


Grand Canyon

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-10
Updated: 1999-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 03:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 41,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What are Sentinel and Guide without their bond? Who are Jim and Blair without each other?<br/><b>Archivist note</b>: This story has been split into three parts for easier loading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Grand Canyon

By Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet>

* * *

Grand Canyon - part one  
by Jack Reuben Darcy 

Blair dropped the passkey on the bed as he moved into the bathroom. He left the hotel door behind him open, knowing Jim would follow in a minute, could hear his voice outside in the corridor. Loose, relaxed, finishing off some discussion from earlier with somebody Blair was sure he knew but didn't really give a damn about. 

Blair kicked the bathroom door closed with his foot and leaned back on it, his fingers already working to turn the lock. He closed his eyes and took one long breath after another, easing dried air-conditioned hotel air into his lungs and out. The ultimate in re-cycling, cleansed, purified, treated, emaciated and returned to him as a complete package. Hideous. Some days civilization sucked. 

Weary arms tugged the shirt from his body, reached into the shower to turn water on. It guzzled and spat, streaming steam into the arid atmosphere with the speed of vengeance unappeased. He ignored it long enough to strip off, leaving his clothes where they landed. As the shower settled its differences with the universe, he adjusted the temperature and stepped in, closing the glass door behind him. 

His head tipped back into the spray without aid of thought. He allowed the water to cascade down his body, let the pressure carve the city dirt from him, needed the pain to penetrate his anguish. 

Soap felt like oil on his hands, gliding them over his skin too quickly, leaving trails of clean white suds along his arms, his chest, spattered by drops of water, defiled and wasted, ruined. Losing patience, he turned and faced the water, rinsed as quickly as he could, fingers already reaching for shampoo. He scrubbed hard, his hair knotting up even as he eased it out. But it needed to be clean. Blair needed it to be clean. 

He stopped, pulling in a heavy breath. He held it against the thundering water and focussed on the pale peach tiles facing him. On that smooth surface, he counted the small spatters that marked his presence, soap, shampoo, water, condensed steam. Marring the gentle colour with their uncaring arrangement. No pattern, no sense, no clarity. 

"Idiot." 

Clean and rinsed, he turned off the water and grabbed his towel. He dried himself where he stood then ran the cloth over the walls of the cubicle, cleaning it too, of the scum he'd brought in with him. He brushed his teeth, shaved, put everything back in his washbag and grabbed the complimentary robe he'd left hanging on the back of the door. 

No, he'd not left it there: Jim had. This morning. 

Jim. 

The soft cloth felt like a balm to his water-ravaged hands. He stared down at it, noting the contrast of his tanned hands against the fluffy white, the smoothness of his skin to the nubbly texture that had always reminded him of his childhood. 

"Such an idiot." 

He opened the robe and slipped it on, pulling it around him, the belt following to tie it in a double knot, fingers fussing over it, absently putting everything back, putting them right, making them work the way they were supposed to. 

Knew this was going to happen. Did nothing to stop it. Idiot. 

Could have done something, somewhere, somehow. Could have made sure it kept working. Could have stopped the slide. The end. 

An idiot. 

Gripping the door handle, he undid the lock and stepped out into the room. Jim was on the phone and barely glanced in his direction. Pausing only a moment, Blair retrieved his dirty clothes and went back into the room to drop them over his backpack. Then, more because he needed something to do, he drifted to the minibar and pulled out a beer. 

"Hungry, Chief?" 

Blair shook his head, his gaze on the glass bottle, feeling the ridges of impressed letters, the weight, the hard coldness, rippled sharp cap. With a viscous twist, he removed it and took a deep swallow. Hops, malt and yeast stung his throat. 

"Maybe we can get some room service later, eh?" Jim was walking away from him, towards the bathroom. "Can't have Simon thinking we didn't at least make an attempt to abuse the expenses, can we?" 

Unthinking, Blair looked up to find Jim standing in the bathroom doorway, one hand on the jamb, relaxed, an easy expression on his face, eyes cool and undemanding. 

In control. 

Oh, he knew what Jim was thinking. Knew exactly. Knew enough not to ask the obvious questions, try to get from Blair some reason for his silence. He knew too damned much. 

And he was aware Jim knew what Blair was thinking about those questions, about why they weren't being asked. They both knew too much. 

It had never been a problem before. 

"I need to wash this dust off, Chief. I left a message for Simon. Told him about the arraignment and that we'd be back late tomorrow night. If he calls back just" 

"Yeah, okay." And then Blair knew how Jim did it: spoke in such normal tones. His own voice came out untouched by his dread, his need, his emptiness. 

"Okay." 

And then Jim was out of his view, the door closing behind him. Blair heard no ominous click of the lock, heard the water pound almost immediately, the clatter of a jeans zip landing on the tiled floor, the snap of a cubicle door, groan of glass against metal. Sinuous, sleepy water gliding over muscled flesh, plastic bottles extracted and replaced on the wire rack, a hum beneath it all; Jim's voice, soft and low, idle, like a car engine, picking out favourite threads of some tune he'd heard in the last hour. 

Blair emptied his beer down his throat, guzzling all until his lungs demanded air. His hands automatically reached for another, pushing the fridge door closed with his knee. 

He wandered through the room, removing the new cap and tossing it onto his bed where it smacked against the passkey. The noise made him stop and look down. And the shower turned off and his feet began to move again, taking him to the window. 

Not drinking this time, he leaned a shoulder up against the tall glass and gazed out over a city too busy with itself to worry about the outside world. Vegas appeared before him like a fairy wonderland, all lights and elemental towers, darkness hiding the self-indulgent bestiality of greed and ruthlessness. A city for those who wanted to leave the real world behind, for those wishing never to return and for those who wanted to take it with them. A city designed not for pleasure, but for taking. Those who gambled did so to take what they could get. Those who didn't, took the rest. 

Would he smile the next time he came here? The trial was scheduled for six months, when the plains around this place would be swept with icy winds at this time of night, when the few drops of rain which graced this land would fall with incandescent fury, seeking to drown what no wind could blow away. Returning here would be difficult, would be impossible - and yet, he knew he would come, knew he had to, knew, more than anything else, there simply wasn't a choice any more. 

He took a single sip of his new beer and listened as Jim emerged from the bathroom, put his clothes away as neatly as ever, collected the passkey and cap from Blair's bed, put the first on the minibar, the second in the bin, pour himself something that sounded like bourbon, carry the glass across the room until the man stopped beside Blair. 

A gentle swallow and Blair could smell the fiery liquid in the air around him, sharp, tangy, desirable. Jim's robe matched his, but was midnight blue, mysterious, mostly in shadow. 

"Interesting place, eh?" 

Blair took another mouthful and nodded. "Pity we had to spend so much time in the city, though." 

"Wanted to see the Canyon that bad?" 

"Would have been nice. It's a long way from Cascade." 

"Yeah." Jim drained his drink and put the glass down on the table behind him. "We'll take a couple of extra days after the trial, go see the Canyon, do a bit of hiking." 

"Yeah?" The beer bottle was so cold it was making Blair's fingers hurt. 

"You really should see it, Chief. It's incredible. First time I saw it, I just couldn't believe how big it was. Goes on forever." 

"Nothing goes on forever." Blair's soft words were real, and he'd only meant to think them. Even the Grand Canyon had its limits, its boundaries, its rules, a contained depth that could take forever to climb out of. The Colorado river rushed along at its base, an artery of life through a dead hole, gaping in the ground. Yet that very artery had carved the canyon in the first place, destroyed as it created, took as it gave. 

And when the river dried up? 

The brilliantly-lit city took on a different, hazy appearance as tears formed in Blair's eyes, leaked over onto his cheeks and fled south. He made no sound, moved no more than breathing required. And he listened to the silence. Listened to the emptiness filled with traffic and life and air-conditioning and distant doors opening and closing and Jim standing beside him, breathing and being there but saying absolutely nothing. 

The silence alone was deadly. 

Not taking his eyes from the view, Blair drew into himself, listening now to the only thing he had to focus on: Jim. His dark presence a weight of memory, of experience, of creativity. Immobile and yet not, living and still made of stone. Still silent. 

Blair spoke, his tears unchecked, his fingers no more than ice. "It's time, isn't it?" 

"Isn't it?" A question and an answer, both equally certain, equally hesitant. 

"Didn't know," Blair answered, little more than a whisper now, "when we came here. I suppose I wasn't paying that much attention. Haven't needed to, I guess. Should have, though." 

"Why?" 

A faint shrug was all Blair could manage. "Dunno. Thought maybe" 

"Blair," Jim took the bottle from his hands and put it down, returning to his position, his sentinel stance, beside Blair, inside the silence. "The time was always going to choose itself." 

"Yeah." And Blair couldn't help it: he closed his eyes and let the tears go, let them fall, let them drown the pain, though he knew they wouldn't. Angry then, he opened them again, blinking, forcing it away, aside, anywhere but where he was. It wasn't supposed to feel this bad. 

"Chief?" 

"What?" 

A pause, lighter than he'd been expecting. "I don't want you to hurt like this. Please?" 

"I'm not hurt, Jim, just" But he couldn't go on. No words were going to make a difference and they both knew it. 

The smallest sound warned him that Jim had moved. A cool graze of air by his shoulder and Jim's hand brushed hair back from his face. "Chief? If it isn't time, just say so. I don't like making you cry." 

Blair pulled in his bottom lip as that hand touched his face, so lightly, so gentle he couldn't help but lean into it, feeling the shudder that ran the length of his body. "It's not you, Jim. You know that. I'm an idiot, forget about it." 

"Why are you an idiot?" 

"Well, I kept hoping" His voice cracked at that and he turned to face Jim, knowing he had to face him to say it. "Was hoping it wouldn't have to end, you know?" 

A single, slow nod gave Jim's understanding depth and challenge. "But it has." 

"Yeah." Blair swallowed as Jim's fingers caressed his cheek, warm and smooth. The hand dropped then, to Blair's hip, gently tugging him closer. Blair went with it, noting idly how his heartbeat spiked, how a shiver set his skin on edge, how Jim's gaze never left his. 

And then Jim's arms came around him, holding him but not imprisoning him, a cage of flesh and bone rather than steel. Blair lifted his face, placed his hands on the cloth-cloaked chest, touched the coarse covering on hard muscles. His heart-rate jumped again but he paid no attention. All that he had, everything that he was now focussed on what he could see in Jim's eyes, what he knew he was admitting with his own. 

"Is this" Jim's voice was husky and restrained. 

"What?" 

"I was just wondering if this was how you pictured it." Jim's head tilted slightly to one side, a corner of his mouth lifting Blair's heart and carrying it away. 

"There was never a particular place, Jim." Blair was moved to shift closer with that tiny smile, places in him relaxing at its warmth, its mere presence. "You?" 

"I think I've imagined this moment a thousand times - and nothing compares to the reality." 

"No?" 

"No. You're right. It does hurt. And maybe it's because we are here that it's time. I don't know. All I do know is that I wanted there to be starlight around us the first time I kissed you." 

Blair felt another tear leave his eyes and smiled as well as he could. "There is, Jim. You brought it with you." 

And then Jim's eyes looked misty, his smile gone, his face hard and deadly, trapping Blair where he was. The words, when they came, were harsh and withering and loaded with self-doubt and absolute certainty. "God, I'm so sorry, Blair." 

And then his face came close, his breath hot on Blair's skin and Blair moved with him, always with him, never against, and together they met in the middle of the space that separated them and Jim's lips covered his own, present, necessary, unavoidable and so very much needed. 

And then Blair's tears dried as he took in the taste and texture of Jim's kiss, the feel of his lips, hungry and desperate, almost lazy, but always delicious, surprisingly so, making Blair hungry and desperate, his arms going around the bigger man's neck, pulling him closer, deeper, Jim pulling him closer, driving his kiss deeper and unending and on it went, time standing still, making the moment, creating it from nothing and everything and making it whole. 

And then Blair thought he was going to die when it did end because he'd never thought for one moment, not one single second over the last three years that finally kissing Jim would feel so monumentally and absolutely right. 

Shock left him standing with his mouth open, his eyes wide, gazing up at a Jim who was smiling again, pleased, even happy. The moment stretched between them but neither felt disposed to mar it with words. Instead, Jim's arms moved across Blair's back, feeling and dispersing the earlier tension, his body speaking in more volumes than an Encyclopaedia. 

Blair suppressed a laugh. This was so not the moment for laughter. And it seemed Jim knew he wanted to laugh because he bent his head again and again kissed him, taking him, making him, bringing him back to life. 

"Jesus, Jim," Blair breathed, when he could speak again. 

"Yeah, exactly." There was certainly laughter in Jim's voice. "More than time, I should think." 

And Blair pulled him down this time, taking his own kisses, melting his body up against his sentinel's, feeling so much more than he'd expected to, wanting so much more than he'd thought possible. Jim's mouth was like a whole new world to him and he needed to explore it fully, his hunger now becoming ravenous. But when he heard Jim moan, his knees almost buckled beneath him. 

Jim felt it and held on tighter, drawing back, his eyes glazing over every aspect of Blair's face as though he needed, after three years, to memorize it anew. "We're going to do this, aren't we?" 

"Yeah, we are." Blair's certainty sat beside his regret, like twin peaks, equally powerful. For tonight though, they would have to learn to co-exist. After that, regret would have a clear field. 

But tonight? 

Jim pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his chin, hands came up to push his damp hair back, "You are so beautiful, Blair, so amazingly beautiful." A short laugh was followed by, "God, I've wanted to say that for three years. Nearly killed myself trying not to." 

"Against the rules, man." 

"Don't I know it." 

Blair took more kisses, short and sweet, playing with each of Jim's lips, a toy for him alone. "You taste of bourbon." 

"Not surprising." 

"S'nice." 

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." 

Blair caught a flash of smile before Jim's face buried itself against his throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He gasped in air as teeth nipped at his skin, felt Jim send gusts of hot steam over his flesh, setting him alight. 

He let out a groan, ripped from his belly. And then Jim's hands were at his robe, undoing the belt, letting it fall, opening it wide to carry his kisses down Blair's chest. 

"Oh, god, Jim, please" 

But his sentinel knew exactly what he was saying, even if Blair didn't. Sweat broke out all over him, pouring oil onto the coals burning within him. It was never supposed to be like this never supposed to 

Suddenly he was too close, without Jim hardly touching him and he knew, finally that, yes, it was time. Time they did this. Time they gave into to this desire, time they swept aside everything else, time to forget how much they would have to do to put it back together afterwards. 

Three years of looking and listening and feeling and touching. Giving and taking and never allowing this to get in the way. Never. Not once. Not even talking about it but knowing, both of them knowing it would happen, one day, that they wouldn't be able to stop it one day. Both knowing the risk they took, giving in; knowing that the very centre of their lives would be ripped apart by it, that the thing that had kept them both alive, had constructed their survival through all their trials - the so very-precious bond between sentinel and guide - would be split and shredded by this act. 

But after three years of denial, of avoidance of pretence and sublimation, in the end, it seemed there had been no choice at all. They had to do this. Had to be together. This one night. Had to go through with it and hope one night would be enough - and yet not too much to tear them apart. That bond would be able to survive this, wouldn't it? Please? 

When Jim's tongue reached Blair's nipple, he groaned deeply and Blair knew what he was doing, tasting him, cataloguing him, his guide, memorizing texture and taste, contour and colour and Blair wanted him to. Wanted Jim to do all of that and more. 

Feverish now, Blair grabbed at Jim's belt, pulled it apart, slipped his hands beneath the cloth to feel solid flesh, fingers craving more, moving frantically, pushing the robe up and out of the way, trapping Jim's arms until one by one, he let Blair go enough to let it fall to the ground, leaving him naked. 

Blair looked but couldn't take in the massive expanse before him properly. He was already too dizzy so he tried steadying his breathing, knowing he had to last the night, that Jim would never forgive himself if he killed his guide somewhere in the act of making love the first time. 

But then, he very nearly did when his hands finally reached lower and took Blair's shaft between them, not pulling, but simply feeling, touching lightly, driving Blair closer to the edge, quicker than ever before in his whole life. 

"Jim, please," he managed, succeeding only a little with getting air into his lungs. 

"Bed?" His sentinel, mind-reading, knowing him, understanding. 

"Yes. Now. Before I fall down." 

And with a gust of laughter, Jim caught him around the waist, lifted him and took him to the bed, where he was laid down on his back so gently, it almost made him cry. Jim was leaning over him then, his gaze grave and yet laced with delight. A single finger traced its way down Blair's throat, onto his sternum where the hand spread out, carding through hair. 

"Jim?" 

"Yes, baby?" 

"You know how we said it's time?" 

"Uh huh?" 

"Well, did you know?" 

Jim's face was a picture of blazing fire one second, feigned nonchalance the next. He nodded, "I've got supplies, if that's what you're asking." 

"Yeah, that's what I'm asking." 

"And?" 

"And you gonna use them?" 

"Yes, Blair." Jim bent his head to rasp his tongue over a nipple again, his hands already slipping Blair's robe from his shoulders. "We do this, we go all the way." 

Swallowing heavily, but already reaching for Jim again, Blair nodded, "Just wanted to make sure, you know." 

"That we both know what we're doing here. Don't worry, baby. I've done a lot of research. Experts we may not be, but we will make it good." 

With a wide smile, Blair pushed Jim back and rolled over on top of him. His mouth hungry again, he commenced an assault on Jim's smooth chest, as he'd wanted to do for so damned long. "You did research?" 

"Yep." 

"Me, too." 

"Of course. You're the scholar." Jim was rasping in each breath now as Blair shifted and deliberately brought them into line. The first touch of silky flesh against his own made him freeze where he was, surprise again filling him, coursing over Jim's face. 

"Jesus, Blair!" Jim grabbed hold of him, fingers sinking into the soft flesh of his ass. And suddenly Blair was thrusting against him, no longer able to control anything and getting no help from Jim on that subject either. 

Mouths locked together, they rushed towards the end, dizzy, desperate, raw and needy until as one, they released and let go, flooding themselves with hot wet fluid, gushing and greedy, hard and full. 

Wasted utterly, Blair sank onto the island of Jim's chest, hoping his heartbeat would return to normal sometime this year. Jim's hands held his head close, caught up his hair while the heart beneath Blair's ear thudded hard, gradually slowing. 

Moistening his mouth, Blair managed a whisper. "Jim? Promise me something?" 

"Anything, sweetheart." 

"If we just have this one night? Can we please use the whole night?" 

Helpless laughter made him smile. 

"You bet we're going to use the whole night!" 

* * *

Jim could hear a faint dripping from a tap somewhere down the hall. Drip. Nothing. Drip, drip. Nothing. 

He lay stretched out on the bed, half a pillow under his head, right foot hooked over the side, uncovered by the rumpled sheet. Parts of him were draped over by parts of another warm body, one he had been allowed to memorize during the night, memorize and discover, love to the point of exhaustion and beyond. 

After three years of looking and wanting and doing nothing about it. After three years of discovering the wild and eclectic diverging aspects of his guide, of learning about him, of growing to understand him, Jim, this night, had finally been allowed to love him. 

They'd mentioned love, once, a while ago. He couldn't remember exactly when. But the words had been spoken, a kind of off-hand casual tossing of wretched fact that had said way too much and way too little. The kind of love a man must have for his best friend. 

But they'd never actually talked about _this_. Not in words, certainly. Though of course, there was that other language they shared, just the two of them, something nobody else really understood. Something that gave them a kind of short-hand dialogue, a partial guessing, partial predicting, partial just bloody-well knowing what the other was going to say/do. Like when Jim told Blair to stay in the truck. Blair knew Jim would say it - Jim knew Blair would ignore it. But it just wouldn't be the same if they did it any differently. That was the way it worked with them. That was the way _they_ worked. 

No, they'd never sat down and had one of Blair's famous discussions on the subject of this thing going on between them. Not with each other. He didn't know whether Blair had ever talked to anyone about it - but Jim had. One drunken night at Simon's place, when Blair had gone to see Naomi for the weekend. Simon had plied him with good beer, a pizza and asked him when the hell he and Blair were going to get together. 

The question had thrown Jim only slightly. Largely because he was very much under the influence of alcohol - which was probably why Simon had thought it was okay to ask. Not that Simon had been exactly sober, either. 

But though he'd been drunk, Jim clearly recalled his response to the question. 

"Never." 

Simon had frowned, handed him another beer, sat forward in his big chair and asked why. 

"Can't afford the distraction." 

Highly affronted, Simon had snorted at the concept, grumbling under his breath until Jim had insisted he stop it. Simon had watched him for a minute then sat forward again. 

"I've seen the way you two look at each other, Jim. You telling me you're not already distracted?" 

"Not the same thing at all. Not what I'm talking about." 

"Then explain it." 

Jim had felt like shit then because he knew, though Simon was doing his best to understand, he never would because he wasn't in this thing with Sandburg, he only got to watch it from the outside. Didn't know what it felt like. 

"You in love with the kid?" 

"Sure." 

"Do you know how he feels about you?" 

"Sure. I'm his sentinel." 

"No, I mean is he in love with you?" 

"Dunno." 

"Have you asked?" 

"No. Never will." 

"Shit, Jim! Why not?" 

"Can't afford the distraction." 

Over the last few months, that feeble explanation had become something of a mantra to Jim. Every time he caught himself watching Blair at the dining table, head bent to his laptop, unaware of the scrutiny. 

But then, sometimes, when he least expected it, Blair would look up and their eyes would meet and Jim simply knew that he didn't need to ask how Blair felt about him. About them. 

No, they'd never discussed it. Never needed to. They both knew it was impossible. 

And now he was here, in bed with Blair for the first and last time. His infallible internal clock was ticking away the last seconds of the night, waiting for those fingers of dawn to come creeping across the sky and trigger a new day. 

He rolled onto his side carefully, not disturbing the woeful package of slumber next to him. No, he simply shifted until he caught Blair in his arms properly, head on his chest, legs entwined. Blair was so exhausted, he didn't stir - but his subconscious understood, moving his body to snuggle closer to Jim, making Jim lose the smile that had been emerging. 

Impossible. 

Never. 

Absolutes. He'd always relied on them. Right, wrong, good, bad. Black and white. Sentinel and Guide. Jim and Blair. A pair of absolutes, the two of them. 

He'd been a little surprised by Blair's responses - though delighted. Since they'd never discussed any of it, Jim hadn't known one way or the other whether Blair had had any previous experience with men. Jim's own experiences were nothing much to boast about, just the usual army stories, a little desperate relief when absolutely necessary. Nothing too heavy, certainly nothing hard-core. And, as brief and hurried as they had been, he'd enjoyed them. But since then, he'd stayed away from the male body. Far away. Had accepted society's dictates on the matter and learned to satisfy whatever urges he felt with the opposite sex - even if those urges weren't entirely focussed on that opposite sex. But it was just too damned difficult for him to try an alternative. People liked to joke about it - but Jim knew better than anyone how hard he found it to relate intimately to anyone, how dangerous it was for a cop to go cruising for trade, to enter into any relationship with either male or female where he couldn't trust his partner with the secret of his senses. 

Casual sex with women was safe and easy. The same with a man was dangerous. 

Long term relationships were out completely. Always would be. As long as he had these senses, Jim would remain alone. 

Only - he was never really alone - just alone in bed, at night, when he only noticed it occasionally. Blair filled those other gaps in his life, was the kind of partner who gave a full dimension to the word. They were by no means the same - but they were equal, each giving his own share towards the whole. Together, they were certainly much, much more than the sum of their parts. 

And Jim liked it that way. Maybe it was a guy thing - but he'd never met a woman so far he felt could equal him in the same manner. And it wasn't a physical argument: Blair had a strong, sturdy body - but in a real fight, he wouldn't have a hope against Jim. No, it was something else that made him and Blair the way they were. Something he'd grown to see was a bond he now protected on a daily basis. Except for tonight - and even then, the release of their pent-up passion had been an expression of protection. It had been time for them to do something about it before it became a big problem. 

A distraction. 

Jim allowed his fingers to brush over the silky texture of Blair's back, allowing himself to be distracted for a little longer, remembering, enjoying the memory, reliving while he could, knowing that to go over it now would entrench it more firmly in his memory for recall later, when this night was done. 

And how Blair had wanted him. How Blair's body had responded so electrically to every touch Jim made, every gesture, every kiss. Jim now understood why the women flocked around him and had no idea why any of them would ever want to let him go. He'd never had a bed-mate so dazzling, so wanting and needing and giving and loving. He'd had sex with men - but he'd never made actually love to a man before. The differences were mind-blowing - and all of them were centred around Blair, who he was, what was inside him, the beautiful body that encased him. 

Jim had been Blair's first. One of those little things they'd explored during the night. Blair's curiosity knew no bounds - but his sense of adventure had been piqued by trepidation, concern for his physical safety and a not-uncommon hope that maybe the gazes he cast in the direction of a great-looking guy now and then were nothing more than artistic appreciation. 

But last night he'd let go of all that. He'd revelled in Jim's body and how Jim had loved it, wanted it, swam through it and drowned in it. Images now came back to him of Blair exploring him, kissing and tasting him, uninhibited by the maleness of him, taking joy and delight in it. And so much more. Of Jim tasting the essence of his guide, of running his tongue across places Blair had never experienced before. And that moment, burned forever in his mind, when Blair, on his stomach, body covered in a sheen of sweat, writhing and trembling close to insanity, had invited Jim to enter him, had demanded it. 

If they'd not done that - if they'd managed to go the whole night without either entering the other, Jim knew he would probably be able to deal with it, with the ending of it. But they had done it. He had taken Blair his first time, had become one with him, had loved him from the inside. And later, keeping to their promise to fill the night, Blair had taken him his first time, joining them once more, encrypting the night with its own language, mostly of love, and only now, of despair. 

One night. Just one. And soon, as the morning glow raised its ugly head across the ugly city, they would separate again and become what they were born to be, sentinel and guide. 

Without distraction. 

Jim closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer up to every god Blair had ever mentioned, that when the moment came, minutes from now, that he would be strong enough to let Blair go. 

* * *

Blair watched the sun come up over Jim's chest, forced his eyes to pay attention as the sky outside the window grew more and more light. He knew Jim knew he was awake, but fortunately, the big guy knew better than to say anything. Blair had slept the last hour or so and now he wished he hadn't. Now he wished he'd had more of this, just lying here, Jim's arms around him, feeling and listening to him, breathing in his unique scent. So he stayed where he was, eking out the last of the night until it was all gone, until it was nothing more than a memory. 

"You okay?" 

"No." 

Jim let out a short sigh, "Yeah, I know, Chief, I know." 

"Yeah." Blair had his head resting on Jim's chest, could hear the voice from the inside, his hand arranged across the shoulder and all of him, every single atom in his body wanted to move and caress, place small morning kisses across the beloved flesh. 

He remained unmoving. 

"On the road after breakfast?" 

"Okay." Blair paused, knowing he had to make a contribution, knowing it wasn't fair to make Jim do all the hard work. "You hungry?" 

"Are you kidding?" 

Blair didn't laugh. It was too close a reference to what they'd done last night, what they'd spent all night doing. Even though it was silly with them lying here, wrapped around each other, naked and covered in the evidence. Still he couldn't laugh. "We could order room service. Could be up here by the time we're showered and packed." 

"Great idea, Chief." 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Will we really go and see the Grand Canyon when we come back?" Sound interested. Try to. Should be. 

"If you want to, sure. You know there's a host of Indian legends surrounding the place. I'm surprised you've never been before. Probably too many other places on the Blair Sandburg-I-must-investigate-this-tribe list." 

"But it's beautiful, right?" Be interested. It's important. 

"Very. We'll hike down the Bright Angel Trail and camp at the bottom. We can spend a day exploring some side canyons then go up the other side of Bright Angel the day after." 

"Sounds nice." Small voice, soft now, hoping for that trip. 

"It is. You'll love it." 

"I love you." 

A gasp, "Jesus, Blair," and then he was pulled up by strong arms and turned around and held so tight he was going to break but it didn't matter because he was already breaking inside, already crumbling apart and he couldn't do anything to stop it. Jim held him fiercely, kissing him with none of the passion of last night but so much more than that. "God, Blair, I love you. Love you so much." 

And Blair knew he was crying again; as he'd begun this night, so was he ending it. But Jim simply kissed him, kissing away the tears, kissing away the pain. Or trying to. And then he was holding Blair again, tight, hard, determined and uncompromising. A grip Blair made no attempt to free himself from. 

Finally, when he could actually see the sun creep from behind the eastern city, when his heartbeat returned to normal, he lifted his head and turned his gaze onto the man he loved. Jim said nothing and so Blair, wise and full of anger, kissed him one last time, slowly, gently and deeply. Jim replied, perfectly in kind. 

And then it was over. 

Blair swallowed, hating himself, hating his fear, hating everything in the whole world in that moment. He knew he was trembling. Hated that too. "Jim" 

His sentinel heard the question in his voice, raising his eyebrows. "Blair, you need to" 

"I know, Jim, but god, I don't know if I can. I'm sorry, god, I'm so sorry but I don't think I can do this. Really I don't. I don't want to, god, I don't want to, I don't want to leave you, Jim." He gulped in air, fighting new tears, hating the look he'd caused on Jim's face, hating to make Jim be strong for both of them. "Please, Jim, help me?" 

Chiselled in stone, Jim nodded, "If you want me to do it" 

"I don't want you to Jim, I just don't think I can" 

"Ssh, it's okay, Blair. Trust me, it's okay. I'll do it." 

And that was enough, the voice, the calm absoluteness of it was enough to steady Blair again. In silence now, he watched his sentinel close his eyes a moment, pausing, gathering himself. Then the eyes opened, Jim took a breath and spoke, his tone now firm, not harsh, but not to be ignored. "Blair, get up and get in the shower. We have to get moving. Now." 

And he did. Didn't wait to hear it a second time, didn't want to, didn't want to make Jim insist. He just got up and went into the bathroom, not looking back. 

Not looking back. 

* * *

"Ellison! My office, now!" 

Jim didn't bother looking up first. He just saved the file he was working on, turned off the screen and got to his feet. Simon was already inside his office and pouring coffee by the time he got there. It was a blend Jim didn't recognize, though he knew he would given a few minutes more. Simon however, wasn't interested in his observations. 

"How far have you got with Salvatori?" 

"About as far from here to your desk." 

"That good, eh?" Simon moved around said desk, gestured Jim towards a seat and took his own. "Well, the DA's coming in tomorrow morning and wants a full brief. He goes to court on Monday so you've got three days to dig up whatever you can on the financial side." 

Jim shrugged, "I'm not sure there's any more to dig up. Either that or he's covered his tracks so well, we'll never find them. You know how long we've been working on this case." 

"Three years, five weeks, yes, I remember. It came in here the first day Sandburg arrived. I'll be glad when we finally wash our hands of it." 

Jim only nodded at that, only partially aware of what Simon was talking about because somewhere between his last two sentences, Jim had caught the familiar rhythm of Blair's heartbeat coming closer. Any second now he would step out of the lift, his gaze immediately going to Jim's desk, looking for him. 

"Jim?" 

Realizing he was staring at the lift doors, Jim snapped his head around. "Sorry, sir, what was that?" 

Simon raised an eyebrow and pushed himself back in his chair. He pulled out a fresh cigar and chomped it between his teeth. "Okay, spill." 

Jim said nothing. 

"I'm warning you, Jim, if you don't" 

"If I don't what, Captain?" Yeah, Jim was a sentinel. He could give a cold stare to his superior while keeping tabs on the elevator, listening as the doors swished open, caught every footstep as Sandburg crossed the bull-pen. Didn't need to be a genius to manage that. 

But for once, the steely-gaze thing didn't work. Simon just shook his head, got to his feet and closed his office door. He returned and perched on the edge of the desk before Jim, cigar forgotten between his fingers. "Jim, I need to know what's going on, here. I know you think I'm invading your privacy - but do I have to remind you, I'm also your friend? You know you can trust me." 

Jim looked up, read the genuine concern in his captain's gaze and nodded, "Yes, of course I trust you." But it wasn't a matter of trust. It was a matter of impossibilities and those, he knew, Simon wouldn't understand. 

"Then talk to me." 

"Nothing to tell you." 

Not to be outdone, Simon nodded, "Okay, then. I'll guess. You can confirm or deny as you wish." 

"Look, Simon" Jim was ready to leave - but his captain stopped him. 

"Ellison, I need to know if you and Sandburg can continue working together." 

"What?" Jim almost bounded out of his seat but Simon held up a hand, his own version of the steely gaze pinning him to his place. 

"Did you ever do anything about that matter we discussed some months ago?" When Jim didn't answer immediately, Simon stuck his cigar in his mouth and gave it a chew. "Well? See, my guess is that you did. My guess is that something happened when you went down to Vegas to stick Vanetti behind bars. You've been back, what, five, almost six weeks - and you and the kid haven't been the same since. And I don't see you smiling at each other the way lovers do when things are all rosy in the beginning. I don't see you laughing and joking around the way you used to before all this happened. Basically, what I'm seeing here is little more than a pile of shit - and I don't like the implications at all. Now, you gonna confirm or deny any of this, Jim?" 

"Why should I bother? I mean, you've already got it worked out, haven't you." 

"Damn it, Jim!" Simon leaned forward, towering over Jim without any trouble at all. "What is wrong with you? Just tell me and I'll back off." 

Jim stuck out his jaw and let his gaze go through the glass to where Blair sat at his desk, feigning interest in a file he held, while Jim knew without asking that Blair was in fact, totally focussed on the fact that Jim was in Simon's office. 

How did he do that? How did he know, without sentinel senses? How could he know so damned much when they spoke so little? How was it that Blair could anticipate so much of what he did without any real basis for comparison? 

"I don't suppose giving you two some time off is going to solve this, is it?" 

Jim shook his head. "No. It's too late for that." 

"Then something did happen." 

"Yeah." 

"But it didn't work out?" 

"No, it worked out just fine." 

"So, you two are together?" 

"No. We ended it the next morning." 

"What? Why?" 

Jim shook his head again, his gaze still on Blair. "Doesn't matter. We're back to normal now." 

Simon snorted at that. "Call this normal?" 

Jim came to his feet. "No. I don't call this normal. But Sandburg and I need a little time to adjust, that's all. Look, Simon, I know you don't understand and I know you're trying to do the right thing - and I do appreciate how open-minded you're being - but you can't do anything at all. And me talking about it won't help. In fact, this is one of those rare times when ignoring it actually does make it better. Just give us a little space." 

Simon nodded slowly. "Okay, I can do that. What about the kid? Is he okay?" 

"No. But he'll get better. I'll go get back on the Salvatori trail. Blair's had a few ideas on places we could chase up." 

"Yeah, sure, go." Defeated, Simon waved him off and Jim left. 

Blair looked up as he came out, a smile ready. "Hey, Jim." 

"Chief. You got some time this afternoon?" 

"That's why I'm here. Anything big on?" 

"No, nothing so exciting. We're still scrounging up stuff on Salvatori." 

"God, still? Trial's on Monday, isn't it?" 

Jim reached his desk and sat, switching his screen back on. "Yep and the DA wants a brief in the morning - so whatever we find, we have to find it today." 

"Okay." Blair pulled out his notebook and immediately began to work, steering Jim through the Internet along a path he'd plotted the night before. 

There was nothing there, either. Nothing on Sandburg. Nothing he could pinpoint. But Simon had noticed. Not in what they did - but in what they no longer did. 

Like touching. 

Laughing. 

Being easy with each other. 

Every part of their friendship that had spoken to them each day, every aspect that had filled the emptiness of being alone - was gone. As though it had never existed. A seamless join between the days before Vegas and those after. Nobody but a skilled surgeon would see where the scar lay - but it was there nonetheless. 

And Jim could only wonder how long it would take to heal - or drive them apart forever. 

* * *

The deafening bellow of laughter from around the table nearly made Blair choke on his beer. The smoky bar was crowded to the max, filled with loud students and louder music. He sat squashed by the wall, being royally entertained by a dozen of his anthro students desperate to impress him with stories of their summer exploits. Most had organized work placements on a number of projects, some in South America, one in Spain and two in Africa. The tales were tall indeed \- and Blair happened to know for a fact that three of them were complete fabrications - but he didn't let on. At least, not yet. Time to impress them with his own smarts when it was more useful - in the classroom. 

Friday nights were becoming a habit now. His last class finished at six and then, before he knew it, there were four or five students at his door, tapping their fingers and urging him to hurry up, that all the beer would be gone if he didn't. So, he'd grab his laptop, throw a few books in his bag and off he'd go, the smile on his face reeking of the days when he'd been like them, a carefree student with nothing but finals to worry about. 

And it was good, this going out habit. Getting away from the loft and Ranier and the station for a few hours. Talking about stuff that nobody gave a shit about. Made him feel good, warm and gooey inside. 

Or maybe that was just the beer. 

"Hey, Blair? Did you hear about Stevens in Colombia?" 

He looked up to find eight pairs of eyes on him - somebody must have left to get more drinks. Nope - they were there, on the dance floor, flinging themselves around with the abandon of youth. God, how he missed that. 

"No, I didn't. What about him?" 

"Well, he" 

And Blair didn't hear the rest. He was watching the dance floor. Watching the dancers. Watching the bodies move with the driving beat. Watching one body in particular 

"Then, to top it all off, he said" 

Tall and dark, smooth square face, eyes of chipped brown, shoulders broad 

"the silly fart didn't even look where he was going and crashed right into" 

Dark eyes, wonderful eyes that turned from his partner and looked right into Blair's soul. 

"Sorry?" Tearing his gaze away, Blair hurriedly drained his beer and turned back to his students - but as though they'd known he wasn't really listening, they were already plunging into another story. A story he couldn't have cared less about right now. 

He had to get out of here. 

Now. 

Grabbing his bag, he got to his feet. "Sorry, guys - but I've got papers to grade before morning." 

Universal groans and pleas for one last drink. 

"No, sorry, you enjoy yourselves and don't forget you've all got essays due first thing Monday." God, he felt so old when he said stuff like that. Old and dull. When had that happened? How had becoming a teacher dried him up so he couldn't even leave the kids with a little fun on a Friday night. 

He pushed passed his neighbours, lifting his bag above their heads until he could make for the door. The press of people around the bar was life-threatening and for a few minutes, he thought he'd have to stay after all. But then, before he could get injured, a figure appeared beside him, firmly pushing one body out of the way after another, clearing a space for him to get through. 

He didn't need to look up to know who it was. 

Once past the bar he paused, throwing a glance back the way he'd come before looking up at his personal security. "Uh, thanks for that. Thought I was gonna get flattened." 

A smile greeted his words. A very nice smile at that. "No problem. You on your way home?" 

"Er, yeah. Long day." 

This guy was tall - and built. And looked Blair tore his gaze away, not wanting to think about this, not wanting to have to. 

"Maybe some place quieter might help you unwind after such a long day?" 

Blair swallowed, glancing up again, not answering. 

"I'm Marc, by the way." 

"Blair." 

Another smile, open, generous and 

"Look, maybe another time, eh?" Blair took a step towards the door. 

Marc spread his arms wide, "Hey, man, it's cool if you're not interested. I'm no sleaze." 

"I didn't mean I mean.." Blair gathered himself, pulling his coat on while trying not to put his bag down. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, really." 

Taking the bag from him, Marc waited patiently for Blair to get wrapped up against the winter cold then graciously handed the bag back. "Well, the offer of a drink still stands. There's a place, literally around the corner. No band, no loud music and they do a half-decent garlic bread that goes real well with a beer." 

To say that he was tempted would have been an understatement - but temptation wasn't the problem. "Are you trying to pick me up?" 

That got him another smile, amused, rather pleased - and Blair found himself warming to this guy without any trouble at all. "Am I succeeding?" 

Blair couldn't help replying with a grin of his own. "Maybe. But it was the garlic bread that did it." 

"Always believe in details, man," Marc added, grabbing his coat from the hook by the door. "People remember the details." 

* * *

Blair wasn't even remotely surprised to find the bar half-populated with same-sex couples. He'd recognized the name over the door, seen it advertised on notice boards at the U. Had, about a year ago, wondered about coming here on his own. 

But now he was here and he wasn't the innocent he would have been a year ago. Now he actually had an idea of what he was getting into. Not that he actually wanted to get into anything, really but 

Four months was a long time. A long time to think and process, to try not feeling, to work at making things work with Jim again, climbing back from that terrible cliff. A very long time. A time during which he'd abstained from sex and even pretty much from dating. It had always seemed too much of a betrayal. Stupid, yeah, but there it was. 

Things weren't very good between him and Jim but they weren't falling apart. At least, not yet. 

Marc took him to a booth table and ordered both garlic bread and a couple of beers. Blair sipped his slowly, a mind to having to drive back home. Once settled, Marc rested an elbow on the table and gave Blair his full attention. It was quite breathtaking. 

"So, Blair, what do you do for a living?" 

"Start off with the easy questions, first, eh?" Blair grinned and shook his head, leaving his hand fingering the condensation around his glass. "I'm a lecturer at Ranier." 

"Oh?" Marc sat up a little straighter. "Studying post grad? In what?" 

"Anthropology." 

"Really?" Marc's eyes widened, genuine, not faked. He was impressed \- and Blair tried to ignore how that made him feel. 

"You?" 

"Don't laugh." 

"Sure." 

"I'm a music teacher." 

"Hey, that's cool! Where?" 

"I have my own school, on the other side of town. I also teach at the Karate Club on the south side. It's good fun, gives me breathing exercises I can use when the music students make me want to commit murder." 

Blair laughed, "Maybe you could teach me a few. Anthro students aren't much better." 

"No, but they are at least quieter." Marc sat back and glanced around the room, waving vaguely at someone Blair couldn't see. Without altering his tone, Marc said, "So, who broke your heart and where is he now?" 

And there was something so calm and so reassuring about the man that Blair couldn't stop himself from answering. "He didn't break my heart. And he's at home." 

Marc's gaze returned to him, even and flat. "So you're still together?" 

"No. We never were, really." 

"What does that mean?" 

Blair looked away, his hands toying with the cold glass, not really wanting to talk about it but finding no good reason why he shouldn't \- except that he didn't know this stranger and couldn't trust him with much in the way of specifics. 

"Come on, Blair, I won't bite." Marc urged gently. Carefully, he reached across and rested his fingers on Blair's hand. "I just need to know I'm not getting in the middle of something here." 

"You're not. There's nothing to get in the middle of. It's over. Never really started." 

"But you live with him?" 

"Share an apartment." 

"And what, he's married, straight? What?" 

"Neither. We just aren't together, that's all." 

"Will you get together?" 

"No," Blair's voice dropped. "Never." 

"Hence the broken heart." Marc paused, then shifted a little closer, taking Blair's hand into his own. "Look, I'm not going to pry. And I'm not just on the prowl here, right? I want you to believe that. I'm really not a sleaze - I don't go in for that at all. But, if you want the truth, I was watching you from the first moment you walked into that bar tonight. Had almost given up hope of you seeing me. So, I'd just like to know, and I'd like the truth, please, Blair? Look at me?" 

With a gentle plea like that, Blair had to comply. 

"I'd like to ask you out. Dinner, maybe. Tomorrow? And I need you to tell me if you're ready to do that because I'd really like to see you. But if you're not, just say so, okay?" 

It was probably the most incredible offer Blair had ever had. Acceptance, understanding, interest, all rolled into the one deep brown gaze and - to be brutally honest, here - one very sexy guy. 

Suddenly Blair didn't want to do this any more. Didn't want his life ruled by missing something he could never have again. Didn't want that and knew, even better, that Jim didn't want that for him either. And this was quite an offer. A real one. One he thought he could live with. 

"Yeah. I'd like that. Dinner, tomorrow." And to back it up, he gave Marc a smile. 

Marc nodded, grinning. "Okay. I'll call you in the morning. What's your number?" 

And Blair had to work hard to keep his smile at that - until he said, "I'm out and about a lot during the day. My cell number is - " and Marc jotted it down on a napkin, tucked it into his pocket and picked up his beer. 

"Dress nice, okay?" 

"Okay. Any reason?" 

"Think I'll take you somewhere special. To celebrate." 

"Oh? Celebrate what?" 

Marc laughed and gave his shoulder a squeeze, "Why, our eyes meeting across a crowded dance floor, of course. What else?" 

And Blair just had to laugh because it was silly. Very, very silly - and he was glad. 

* * *

It was late when he got back home. Keeping the noise down to a minimum, Blair parked and grabbed his stuff from the car, closing the door with a gentle push rather than a slam. Jim had been working a lot of late nights recently and needed all the quiet he could get when he was home. 

With his keys in one hand, his bag in the other, he came around the car and headed for the door - and stopped as he saw Jim come out towards him, bulky coat warding off the winter's night. 

"Hey, Chief. You just get in?" An easy smile, welcoming. 

"Yeah, you going out?" Blair watched as Jim walked around him, heading for the truck. "A bit late, isn't it?" 

"Simon called. Salvatori was just found dead in his hotel room." 

"Shit!" Blair blanched and took a short step forward. "You want me to come with you?" 

Jim unlocked the truck door, turning to gaze steadily at Blair, as though looking him up and down. Blair couldn't read anything in that gaze, half-shadowed by street lights. "No, it's okay, Chief. You get some sleep. Have a good night?" 

"Yeah," and Blair paused, biting his lip. This was not really the best time to tell Jim - but he would have to. Tomorrow. Yeah, he'd do it tomorrow, when Jim had slept and rested. "Look, are you sure you don't want me to go with you. I'm okay, really." 

"No, I'll be fine. Probably won't be more than a few hours." Jim gave him an appeasing smile and got into the truck, winding the window down. "By the way, I forgot to tell you - Vanetti's trial has been put back. Got word this afternoon." 

"Put back?" Blair frowned, not wanting to think about going back to Vegas. "How long?" 

"February, after the holidays." 

"February? Hell, Jim, I don't know if I can make it then. I'll have papers to mark and everything." 

Jim simply shrugged, starting the motor. "Sorry, Chief, but you're a witness, just like me. At least you'll have time to make arrangements. I'll see you tomorrow. Get some sleep, will you?" 

"Uh, sure." And Blair didn't say anything more because Jim was driving away from him. 

* * *

The mournful wail of ten-out-of-tune voices made Jim wince - but didn't stop him from joining in. His workmates sang Happy Birthday with all the gusto required for the situation - making the target, Megan shake her head in utter despair. Predicably, that only made the guys sing all the louder, finishing up with a particularly terrible version of 'Why was she born'. 

He'd never known a musical cop in his entire life. 

For some reason he was sure he'd never uncover, the restaurant management didn't throw them out. Instead, the vast collection of waiting staff joined in on the second chorus, emerging from darkened doors with a massive cake bristling with candles. Way too many candles as it happened - and of course, Megan noticed. 

Raising her voice above the others as they laughed and applauded themselves, as though their efforts deserved such an ovation, Megan said, "I just want you all to know that you have my fervent and undying hatred, okay?" 

"All or nothing," Rafe bellowed back. 

Laughing, Megan nodded, "Now - aren't there supposed to be some expensively wrapped consolation prizes to be awarded tonight?" 

Jim could only chuckle. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small package he'd deliberately hidden, passed it to Sandburg sitting next to him who then placed it in front of Megan, along with others that mysteriously appeared. 

"Now, that's more like it!" Connor proceeded to unwrap her gifts with delicate finesse, as though the exterior was more important than the interior, engendering more shouts of impatience from her audience. Blithely, she ignored the lot of them. 

"Hey, Jim," Joel leaned across the table and refilled the wine glasses he could reach. "How did it go today? That lead work out?" 

"No," Jim shook his head. "Complete dead end. To be honest, I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this case." 

"How?" 

"Well, Salvatori's been dead almost three weeks and so far, the only real suspect we have couldn't have done it because he has no less than five unimpeachable witnesses to him being out of Cascade at the time of the murder." 

"And none of them had anything to do with his case?" 

"No, not one." 

"But his death must have had something to do with it, surely. I mean, we had a strong case, right? The DA was certain Salvatori would go behind bars and stay there." 

"No case is that strong," Blair murmured, making Joel frown. 

"What?" 

Blair roused himself, placing his arms on the table. "I said, no case is that strong. We never did tie down the finance aspect. There was never any guarantee Salvatori was going away. He had a pretty good defence counsel. I'd say the odds were about fifty/fifty." 

Not unkindly, Joel raised his eyebrows. "The voice of experience?" 

Blair shrugged, "I'm an analyst, Joel, that's what the department pays me for. " 

Chuckling, Joel sat back, "Hey, no offence meant. But, honestly, I thought they were paying you to keep Ellison here, out of trouble." 

Jim watched as Blair's gaze darkened visibly. "Are you saying I'm not doing my job?" Bristling instantly, Blair prepared for battle - and Jim swooped in to ward off the attack. 

"Hey, Joel, you know Blair had nothing to do with that. He wasn't even there. The guy barely scratched me with the knife and there's not even a scar left a week later - so let's just cool it, okay?" 

Heeding the warning, Joel nodded, his frown confused rather than angry. Exercising discretion, he sat back and turned his attention to Rafe, who sat next to him. 

For long minutes, Jim simply sat there, absorbing the noise of the restaurant, the shreds of conversation from the table around him, sipping his wine and picking at the remnants of his meal. He didn't look at Blair. 

"I'm sorry, Jim." 

"Don't worry about it, Chief. Joel won't take it personally." He offered this as an attempt at a bridge - though they both knew the apology had nothing to do with Taggart. 

There was another long silence, ended when Blair pulled in a huge breath, sitting up, turning to face Jim. "Listen, I have to tell you something." 

"What?" Jim looked at him then, tried to read the confusing mix of expressions which wound across Blair's face - and failing. 

Blair's gaze flickered away for a second, as though he were gauging the likelihood of anyone over-hearing him. Then he fixed Jim again with that penetrating blue, a wall of defence. "I've been seeing someone." 

Oh, this was good. So damned good. So perfect that he had to do this here, in a fucking restaurant full of people where Jim couldn't say anything or do anything or any fucking thing at all, just couldn't 

Move. Breathe. 

Take his eyes away. 

"His name's Marc." 

And if he'd ever been able to cry, if he'd ever been the kind of man who could release anything with floods of tears, he would have chosen that particular moment. But here he was in prison. No words available to him, no gesture, no expression, nothing that could in anyway communicate how he was feeling. Because for him to say so, for Blair to know, would mean they would cross that last line, actually acknowledge in words what was happening, what had happened, what would never happen. If they ever talked about it, if it ever left that Vegas hotel room 

Blair didn't say anything more. His short words alone were not a condemnation. No. He'd said nothing other than what he would have said, a year ago, if things had been different. 

And so Jim took the cue, forcing a single word from his constricted throat, strangling it. "Good." 

Blair studied him for a moment longer, a moment too long, then turned away, leaving the subject, leaving the cold hovering between them, letting it get colder. Letting it consume them. 

* * *

As Blair's body slid to a halt against the wall, he instantly curled into a ball, his hands covering his ears against the deafening gunshots flying overhead. Wet snow and slush soaked into his jeans, freezing his skin almost instantly. He was shaking so hard though, he couldn't tell whether it was the cold or the fact that he'd nearly got himself killed again. 

"It's okay, Chief, I'm on my way!" 

Hearing Jim's call only calmed him a little. He lifted his head, tyring to make out anything in the darkness, some shape, something large and solid he could hide behind. More gunfire had him scrambling along the wall, pressing himself against it, hoping it would be enough. Shouting and crashing, the noises now coming in waves, sirens, the stench of gunpowder and gutters, a wailing scream as someone fell, wounded, landing in the snow. 

And then Jim was there, Rafe at his side and Blair realized the noises had stopped. At least, the shooting had. He lifted his head again and saw a string of ambulances pour into the street, other flashing lights, uniformed cops herding crowds back from the warehouse. 

Something was burning. Flames leaping into the night, stinking of something rotten, something decayed. Flashing weird yellow shadows across everything. 

"Damn it, Chief!" Jim bellowed, reaching down to put a hand under his elbow, helping him up. "What the hell are you trying to do?" 

"I'm okay, Jim!" Blair snapped back, his hands automatically trying to brush clinging snow from his clothes. "I saw that guy coming up behind you and" 

"And if Rafe hadn't shot him, you'd be dead now!" Jim's bellow cut across the street, merged with the sirens. 

"Come on, Jim," Rafe tried to calm him. "It's not like this is the first time the kid has" 

But Jim wasn't listening. He towered over Blair, as though mere size could intimidate him. "Christ, Sandburg, how many times have I told you to stay in the damned truck?" 

"You didn't say anything about staying in the truck, Jim, so don't give me that." 

"Oh, come on! You know I did!" 

"You didn't! You didn't say a fucking word!" 

Rafe stepped between them, a brave move, his gaze hard, his hands raised in placation. "Jim - you didn't tell the kid anything. I was there. Now back off." 

Jim's gaze snapped to the other cop, his chin coming up, jaw clenching. 

And Blair wanted to hold him. Wanted to reach out and just hold him. Hold him close. Hold it together. Hold it and not let go. 

Jim spun on his heel and walked away. 

"You okay, Sandburg?" Rafe was watching him, checking him over for unseen injuries. 

Blair let out a pent up breath, his gaze still on the distance, where Jim was, where he wasn't. "Yeah, I'm fine. And Rafe?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Thanks." 

"Anytime." 

* * *

"And so, there he was, without so much as a lap-lap on - but with a dozen strings of beads around his neck - as the BBC camera crew thrashed four hundred miles through the jungle to find him. It was such a big moment, you see, that they had the camera on. Filmed the whole damned thing." 

Marc chuckled and ducked around Blair to take a pot off the stove. "What did he say to them?" 

"'Say one thing about Livingstone and I'll sue the lot of you for invasion of privacy.'" 

Blair was rewarded with a burst of laughter from Marc. "Jesus, you anthropologists are a strange lot. You wouldn't catch me without my CKs with a camera crew around." 

"Well, I doubt Professor Conrad was planning such a tabloid exposure." Blair grinned as Marc began to serve up the meal. "From what I hear, he didn't have too much to fill the lens with." 

"Blair, you're absolutely impossible!" Marc picked up a piece of carrot, popped it into Blair's mouth and followed it with a soft kiss. "Come on, let's eat before this gets cold." 

Marc's apartment was overcrowded in the same way the loft was almost bare. Virtually every wall was covered with tall ancient bookcases, overstuffed with the oddest collection of literature Blair had seen outside of his own. Everything from books on the gay movement to journals on current mathematics. Poetry from Marlowe to Dickinson, fiction from Hubbard to Tolstoy. Marc had admitted early on that he hadn't read more than half his library - but he was working his way through it, a kind of life's objective he was determined to achieve. 

And now, there were a few tomes on basic anthropology there hadn't been before. 

Blair had instantly fallen in love with the place, the very first time he'd walked in the door. Kind of fulfilled very scholarly fantasy he'd ever had. 

There was an upright piano along one wall, piled high with sheet music covered in layers of dust. The first night he'd come here, he'd insisted until Marc had agreed to play something. A haunting melody Blair couldn't recall now, his only memory was that it had been beautiful. 

The large living area was devoid of any kind of dining table. Marc had an office in his spare room. This area was left for practice and rehearsals - and so was softened by large quantities of bulky cushions, a coffee table and lots of rugs. Almost hippie-like. 

They sat on the floor, putting plates on the table, grinning at each other as they ate. Marc was a good cook, regularly producing meals of various different eastern flavours, some mild, some spicy. All of them an adventure. A lot like the man, himself. 

"Hey," Marc said around a mouthful of rice. "Aren't you off next week? To Vegas? I'm sure you said the trial was rescheduled for the end of March." 

Blair groaned. "Yeah, I did - except that it's been postponed - again. I swear, Vanetti will die of old age before I get to testify." 

"When is it now?" 

"April 16 - allegedly. I'll believe it when I walk into the courtroom." 

Marc tilted his head on one side, a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, I'm sorry, but I refuse to be sorry about it. Means I won't be losing you for two weeks." He backed this up by taking Blair's hand, squeezing it. 

Blair studied him for a moment, placing his fork down. Slowly, he brought Marc's hand to his lips, flicking his tongue over one finger. "Some spilled sauce here, I think," he murmured softly, watching with glee how Marc's eyes darted to his and down to his hand, how the pupils dilated. Forgetting the meal for a moment, Blair took the whole finger into his mouth, sucking just enough to make Marc start to breathe heavily. Then, sure he had his audience captive, he crept forward until he could take that mouth with his own, pushing Marc back from the table. 

Marc's arms caught him as they landed on the floor, held him as his mouth devoured Blair's, moving his hips so that Blair would know just how captive an audience he had. Blair could only laugh with delight. 

"You're a cruel, hard man, Blair Sandburg," Marc managed after a moment, bringing his hands up to cradle Blair's head. "The emphasis being on" 

"Cruel?" 

"Um, yeah. Exactly." He took another soft kiss then rolled them both over, until Blair was his captive. He was silent a moment, then shook his head slowly. "You know, I didn't think we'd last more than a couple of weeks. And now it's been what? Four months?" 

Blair nodded. 

Again, Marc was silent, simply watching Blair. Then he said, "Will you stay tonight?" 

Blair tried not to frown - but failed. They'd had this conversation too many times lately. 

Again, Marc shook his head. "And it doesn't bother you? To go from my bed, back to your loft with your man?" 

"He's not my" Blair said the words before he could stop himself. 

"Yeah, I know, he's not your man. You keep saying that." Carefully, Marc rolled off him and sat up, collecting the plates and taking them back into the kitchen. Blair scrambled to his feet and followed him, unwilling to leave this again, as they always did. 

"Come on, Marc, talk to me. I need to know how you feel." 

Marc shot a hard glance at him as he began to clear up, no violence in his movements, no bitterness in his voice. "Why don't you just have him and be done with it?" 

"It's not that simple." 

"No, that's right, it isn't. I keep forgetting. I keep thinking, for weeks at a time that I might have some affect on you, that somewhere, down the line, your poor heart might not be so broken, that you might" 

Blair came up close, put a hand on the taller man's shoulder, "What?" 

Marc slipped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer, but not looking at him. "What would you say if I told you I was falling in love with you?" 

Totally unsurprised, Blair said nothing, making Marc finally look at him. 

"Would you say the same to me?" 

The force of the soft-voiced question hit Blair like a blow to the stomach. He almost flinched - and Marc saw it. 

"You've never even told me his name, Blair. I don't have your home phone number, I don't even know where you live. We've been together four months. Sure, I knew what I was getting into at the beginning \- and believe me, I did a lot of hard thinking. I've never enjoyed being the wall in a game of rebound - but hell, Blair, I really wanted you. Doesn't that count for something?" 

"Your wanting me counts for a lot," Blair murmured. "But you know, I don't talk about him, do I? I don't bring him up in conversation. I don't say his name when we're making love. I like you wanting me. You, Marc. I promise you, he's not in this room with us." 

"No," Marc sighed, placing a hand over Blair's chest. "He's in _this_ room with us." 

When Blair said nothing, Marc dropped his hand, leaning down for a kiss, impressing himself in that simple gesture. "I really want this to go somewhere, Blair. Somewhere permanent. I don't mean you don't give me your full attention because you do, and believe me, knowing you, that's extremely flattering. I love that attention. And no, you don't talk about him and yes, I'm always the one who brings him up but the truth is, Blair, sometimes I look at you and I know I'm not getting all of you. Can you understand that?" 

"Sure," Blair reached up and put his arms around Marc's neck. "But you know already, I doubt I'm ever going to be able to give anyone that much - and it's got nothing to do with him. Not in the way you think, at least." 

"Then" Marc pulled in a breath. "Give me the next best thing. Move in with me." 

Blair recoiled as though he'd been slapped, so shocked by the suggestion that he couldn't cover his reaction. "I I" 

Leave Jim? 

Fortunately, Marc had no real idea of what he was asking, so entirely misread Blair's response. "We could clear out half the study, put a desk in there for you. I've got a lot of junk in the lounge that could easily be stored in the garage. Or we could get a bigger place together. Somewhere near Ranier" 

Blair took another step back, his chest heaving, knowing he was close to having a panic attack. He had to calm down, had to stop his terror this consuming 

"Okay, okay," Marc held up his hands, turning away, his face closed in. "Forget it. Forget I said anything." 

And Blair couldn't do it. Couldn't do that do him. He took one step forward and reached out, turning Marc and throwing himself into strong arms that gripped him tightly. "God, I'm sorry!" 

"No, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Marc whispered against his cheek. "I don't want to push you but I hate seeing the way he makes you so damned miserable. You're not happy living there, in the same place as him. You work with him and have to go home each night and maybe you need to get away from him. I know you keep telling me it's not that simple but maybe it is. Maybe you can make it that simple. Please, Blair, will you just think about it?" 

"Of course." And as Blair uttered the first real lie he'd given Marc, he bit his lip until it hurt. Then he covered Marc's face with kisses, desperate now, desperate to fill that void, to rid himself of the panic, the terror, the hate and anger. "Leave the dishes. Make love to me." 

And Marc pulled him closer, already removing layers of clothing and as Blair closed his eyes, he knew he would stay the night. 

[Continued in part two](grandcanyon_a.html).


	2. Chapter 2

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Grand Canyon

By Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet>

* * *

Grand Canyon - part two  
by Jack Reuben Darcy 

It was 8.45am before Jim finally went out to his car. He knew he was going to be late for work. Knew he didn't have an excuse. Knew Simon would demand one. Knew the icy spring morning wouldn't reach the ice in his gut. Knew Sandburg wasn't coming home. 

Knew he was likely to kill somebody for that. 

Oh, this was getting so easy now. Easy to fill each and every day with absolute nothingness, as though life had become an endless zone, his only waking moments were when Sandburg was with him. There was no office, no university, no drinking friends, no life outside of work. No Marc. No, Sandburg only existed now when he was close enough for Jim to hear his heartbeat. 

So he didn't exist now. Now, Jim was alone. 

And Sandburg wasn't. He was doing exactly what he was supposed to do, have a life. A real life. He'd adjusted and changed and gone on, forgetting everything that had happened eight months ago. Forgetting what it had meant. 

What it had cost them. 

He knew he was jealous. Almost thrived on it. Even though it was bleeding him dry. 

Didn't matter. There was almost nothing left to take. 

He got into the truck and started the motor, pulling into the road before he could stop himself glancing the other way in the hope that he'd see the Volvo cruising towards him. 

Got to get to work. Sandburg is due in this morning. He won't forget. 

The windscreen fogged up quickly but he couldn't be bothered waiting for the demister. Instead, he just opened the window wide and let the cold air in. Didn't make any difference in the long run. 

He wanted Blair to be happy. Really, he did. Honestly and sincerely. 

So why couldn't he rid himself of the burning jealousy that rankled within him, crushing such generous thoughts, sharpening his anger until it was a gleaming blade within him? Blair had to be happy, or the whole thing would have been for nothing. No sacrifice too small, no job too big… 

But Blair didn't seem to be happy. Not that Jim could really tell any more. It wasn't like they spent any time together outside of work. Certainly none alone. And they didn't talk, didn't even discuss the latest Jags game. They kind of just kept passing each other, like proverbial ships in the night, without navigation lights on at that. 

And in those vague passings, Jim had seen the one thing that terrified him more than anything. It was going. All of it. They had almost nothing left now, nothing but regret. 

* * *

The first thought Blair had when he woke up was for the shower. Marc was already up, Blair could hear him in the kitchen. Without even giving his body the chance to get used to life again, Blair rolled out of bed and dashed into the bathroom. He scrubbed and scrubbed and anguished over which shampoo smelled the least man-made. When he was rinsing off, Marc called to him that coffee was ready. 

Not bothering to shave, Blair dried off, cleaned his teeth and rummaged around the bedroom for his clothes. By the time he got into the kitchen, Marc had poured him a cup, put a plate of toast on the bench and was reading the paper. Blair stopped and watched him for a moment, a smile all over his face. 

"What are you grinning at?" Marc asked without looking up, hiding his own smile. 

"If I say nothing, you'll make me pay, won't you?" 

"Maybe." 

Half-laughing, Blair just went with it, allowed the flow to pick him up and carry him, hoping it knew where it was going. He reached out, pulled a section of the newspaper out of Marc's hand and thrust it under his nose. 

Puzzled, Marc looked up. "What?" 

"I think a house would be nice." 

Marc's eyes widened as his mouth opened in surprise. "A house?" 

"Yeah, a house. Doesn't have to be near Ranier. I don't mind driving." 

For a second, Marc didn't move - then he clamped his mouth shut, ducking his head, trying to pretend he was capable of suppressing the smile already invading his face. 

"If a house is okay with you?" Blair continued, enjoying that expression, enjoying the moment, the sudden freedom of it. 

"Yeah," Marc sounded a little choked up. "A… house would be great." 

Satisfied, Blair finally picked up his coffee and in the process, saw the clock. "Shit!" 

"What?" 

"I'm gonna be late. Hell, he'll kill me!" He spilled his coffee in his haste to put the cup down. He turned to find his bag and coat but Marc was there, handing them to him, helping him get out the door in a hurry. Blair was so frantic that it wasn't until he reached the car that he realised he hadn't kissed Marc once this morning. 

* * *

At least Sandburg had the decency to look grovellingly apologetic as he rushed into the interview room, half an hour late. He would have stammered some kind of excuse - but Simon stopped him, a hand raised, head inclined in deference to the visiting Arizona cops. Some grim sliver of satisfaction made Jim pull up a chair for him, made him take his bag and coat - even if he did then just cast them towards an empty corner. 

Then Jim spent the next two hours making no effort to forget about where Blair had been and what he'd been doing to make him late. It didn't require effort. It came quite easily. 

For two hours both he and Sandburg answered questions about Vanetti, covering aspects they'd gone over a dozen times before in the lead up to the trial - now postponed until April 16. But they also went over other things and in the process, Jim developed an idea of why the case was still put off. He tried once to question but the Arizona guys gave him nothing, didn't want his or Blair's testimony to become tainted. Seemed they had some other fish they wanted to fry and thought he and Sandburg might provide a little kindling. 

In the end however, he had no idea how useful they'd been as, once done, the two men thanked Simon and left. Relieved that it was over, and nursing something of a headache, Jim rose and went back to the bull-pen to find Simon waiting for him. 

"Interesting little scene in there." 

"Which one?" 

Simon's glance was sharp and hard, "Don't play cute with me, Ellison. And stop treating your partner like he was a cancerous growth on the side of your face. I'm talking about Vanetti." 

Jim ignored the jibe and raised his eyebrows, falling into his seat, ignoring Blair as he trudged towards them. "They tell you anything? What they're looking for?" 

"As if I would tell you. How long have you been a cop, Jim?" Simon turned for his office, "And I don't want to remind you about those reports a third time. My desk, by 1pm." 

"I hate paperwork," Jim breathed, to no one in particular. 

Blair sank into his chair, holding his coat and bag between his knees. He stared at the ground for a minute, then looked up, as though he'd only just remembered Jim was there. "I'm sorry I was late." 

Something in the forlorn gaze held Jim in a vice, from which he could not release himself. 

"Jim," Blair continued, not shifting his gaze, dropping his voice to keep his words private. "We need to talk." 

"About?" 

Blair swallowed, "You know… about… Marc." 

And Jim was free again, sitting up straight, turning to the reports, pulling the first one he reached, flipping it open. 

Blair's voice came to him, sentinel soft, the way he used to - and Jim hated him for that betrayal. "Please, Jim, we have to talk. We can't put it off any longer." 

Jim turned the pages savagely, holding his pencil so hard it snapped. 

"I'd… I'd like you to meet him." 

"NO!" 

Jim didn't even realize he'd yelled until a voice from across the room complained. Then he looked up, frowning before turning at last, to Sandburg. For a full minute, he just let his eyes gaze on that face, the one he'd held and loved and cherished for such a short, tiny infinitesimal spec of time, the face that he wanted in his life every day, lying there on his pillow when he woke and when he slept, soothing and calming him when he raged inside, smiling and laughing at him when he deserved it, giving to him as it had always done, simply giving without question, without cause. 

Slowly, Jim shook his head, his voice coming out leaden. "Never." 

Never. Like never have Blair. Like never do anything to destroy the unique bond they shared. Never hurt him. Never have him, never touch him, never love him. Never again. 

The ultimate absolute. 

Blair got to his feet and pulled on his coat. "I'm sorry, Jim, but I think this is as close as I want to get to the Grand Canyon." 

He turned to leave, but Simon yelled and that broke the freeze they were trapped in. 

"Ellison, Sandburg! My office. Now!" 

And idly, Jim wondered if the captain ever bothered talking in real sentences. 

* * *

They had a lead. On Salvatori's murder. An ex-lover had turned up dead, on the other side of the city. Six months of nothing and then this? 

Blair took a look around the seedy suburb as he climbed out of the truck. The cold hit him immediately and he suppressed the desire to complain about it. After all, it was spring, wasn't it? Summer would be along soon. Summer and sunshine and warmth. Couldn't be that far away, could it? 

Jim was already at the stairs, taking them two at a time, flashing his badge at the uniforms as he went by. Blair followed, hoping the exercise would warm him up a little. He got to the top of the stairs and ducked inside. 

The first room he found was a kitchen where another uniform nodded at him, "Morning, Professor." 

"Hey, Clive. Howy're doing?" 

"Fine, fine. He's in there." 

Blair nodded and walked through into a bigger room, automatically looking around for Jim, dodging the forensics team as they cleared up. He found what he was looking for and moved forward, his gaze dropping to the point of focus for everyone in the room… 

And suddenly he couldn't breathe. 

The body was hideous, rotting, carved up like, like… Oh, shit! 

With desperate futility, he spun around, dashing for somewhere safe, knowing his guts were going to do it to him again… 

He made it as far as the kitchen where the sink caught the worst of it. Not that he'd had breakfast or anything. Didn't matter. 

"Hey, Professor, take it easy." 

A hand on his back, soothing, voice speaking softly. He was grateful for that. Intensely grateful. 

Slowly, he regained himself, rinsing his mouth out with water as a damp cloth was pressed into his hands. 

"You okay, Prof?" 

"Yeah," he managed, "Thanks, Clive. I'm fine now. Just a bit of a shock. No warning." 

"Sorry about that. I shoulda said something. Forgot you do that." 

"It's okay. Kinda forgot, myself, you know?" 

"Yeah." 

Blair took in another breath and felt his stomach steady. Nonetheless, he didn't go back into the room until he saw the coroner guys carry out a clean white plastic bag. Only then did he venture back into the nightmare space. 

Jim wasn't there. Blair could see him through into the bedroom. Determined, Blair went in after him, stood there a moment, watching the other man wander about the place, picking things up, looking at them before putting them back down. 

"Find anything?" 

"Not yet. Still looking." 

"Uh huh." Blair pushed his hands into his pockets, feeling the cold even more now. "So how does this guy tie in with Salvatori. They were lovers?" 

"About three years ago. This guy, Feleni, used to run cash for Salvatori." 

"But we never found any record of a Feleni." 

"Exactly. There wouldn't have been any connection except for the fact that the uniforms found an address book when they were trying to ID the body. Had Salvatori's name in there with his previous five addresses. Phone numbers, cell, office, the lot. And this diary." 

Jim tossed him a slim volume, the year printed in fading gold on the outside. 

"Marks dates and times they met, places even. There are records here, I can feel it, Chief. Anybody so meticulous would have kept records." 

"And that's why Feleni was murdered - and maybe Salvatori, too?" 

"Seems likely." Jim came to a halt at the window, his fingers resting lightly on the dirty sill, his gaze pasting through the fine net curtain, his back to Blair. "I really want to nail this case. I'm so sick of it hanging over us. It's been around as long as you have and we're still no closer to resolution than we were the day you walked into that hospital room." 

Taking a deep breath, Blair walked up behind him, pausing close, keeping his voice quiet. "Marc has asked me to move in with him." 

Jim nodded, "I guessed it was something like that. When you didn't come home last night." 

And Blair couldn't bring himself to ask if Jim was okay with it. Couldn't bring himself to get that close. Couldn't go anywhere near it. Even though Jim's silence sliced him in two. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, knowing he was going to cry if he stayed there much longer, knowing he was going to fall apart, knowing it was too late to stop any of it. "I'm so sorry, Jim. Sorry we didn't see what a terrible mistake it was going to be. Sorry we've got so bad. Sorry we can never talk about it, never understand it. We were trying to protect what we had and instead, we've just destroyed it. I'm so sorry." 

And that was it. He literally couldn't stand there any longer. When Jim said nothing, didn't even move, nod, shake his head - nothing, Blair had to go. He turned and left the room, swallowing the destruction deep inside, waving a thank you to Clive and going outside. Down the stairs, along the street, around a corner, further away, walking and walking, just keep going, keep going away, further away. 

It began to rain. He kept walking. His coat took the worst of it to begin with, but soon he was soaked to the skin. His feet took him towards Marc's place but he turned off before he could so much as see the building. The streets emptied of pedestrians and still he kept going, on and on until at last, he could see Ranier, in the distance, familiar lines on familiar buildings. On and on until he got there, climbing stairs, freezing cold, dark with heavy clouds and into his office. 

Numb and frozen, he stood there. 

The phone was ringing. Like an automaton, he picked it up, held it to his ear. 

"Sandburg?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Sandburg, are you alright?" 

"What?" 

"Is something wrong?" 

He knew the voice, but it took a moment for him to call up the name. "Captain, no, nothing's wrong. Why?" 

"You just sound really odd. But if you're okay…" 

"Fine. What's up?" 

"Well, I just thought you might be able to shed some light on what happened to Jim." 

Blair shunted out of his fog, his heart pounding. "What's happened to Jim?" 

"He's okay - now. Look, I thought you went to the Feleni place with him." 

"I did. Captain, tell me what happened!" 

"He zoned, Sandburg. At Feleni's. Clive Schenker found him standing in the bedroom by the window half an hour after you left. Couldn't get him to respond." 

"Ohmygod!" Knees suddenly weak, Blair sank onto a chair, his stomach churning, head dizzy. 

"He's okay now. Came out of it about five minutes after I got there. What the hell happened?" 

"Nothing…" Blair was in trouble. He was scrambling. For. Something. For. A. Reason. 

Shitgodnodon'tdothistomeJesusJimIloveyouIloveyou… 

"Sandburg, how the hell could nothing have happened! The man went into a zone for more than an hour. He won't talk about it but it must have started while you were there. How could you not…" 

Notice, Sandburg! How could you not notice the man was zoning? You love him more than your own life! How could you? How could you? 

"… don't understand exactly what you did but I managed to get him out of it without any trouble. No real harm done except the boys from uniform got a little spooked. Sandburg? You still there?" 

How could you! 

Blair snapped to his feet. "Yes, Simon, I'm still here." Not that it makes a difference. Could be in Zambia for the good it would do. "Yeah. Is he home now?" 

"I just took him back to the loft. Been trying to ring you for the last couple of hours. Where the hell have you been?" 

"Nowhere, Captain. Absolutely nowhere. Look, I'd better go and make sure Jim's okay." 

A pause. "Um… look, I think maybe you should wait a bit, okay? Jim's alright, I just checked on him, myself. He sounded fine. I just don't think you should go back home at the moment. Do you…" 

"What?" 

"Well, if you have somewhere else you can crash the night, I'd do it. You're seeing someone, aren't you? Could you perhaps stay with her?" 

"Him." 

"Oh, shit, Sandburg, you're not telling me…" 

And Blair's voice came out so hard, he shocked himself. "Don't go there, Simon. Don't even think about going there. Look, I'm soaked to the skin. I have to get out of these clothes before I get pneumonia. Don't worry, I won't go anywhere near the loft. I'll call you in the morning to see how Jim is." 

He could hear Simon puffing on a cigar, thinking in gestures. But little of it came out in words. "Right. Call me in the morning. And don't worry about Jim. I'll make sure he's okay." 

Blair put the phone down with an amazing gentleness. Calmly, he turned to his locker and pulled out a pair of old sweats he kept there for emergencies. With no thought at all, he headed down to the gym, showered, dressed, dried his hair then went back to his office and sat behind the desk. There, on his left, was the stack of paper, drafts of his dissertation, old and new. He'd been sorting through them yesterday, culling stuff he didn't need, filing what he did. In one week, he had a review board meeting. In three months, the dissertation was supposed to be completed. This next review was to go over his final draft format. 

He bent down and pulled the bin to the edge of the desk. Then, his hand firmly on the stack of paper, he simply pushed and watched the whole lot fall into the trash. Where it belonged. 

Then, without pausing, he pulled his laptop close, switched it on, waited for it to load and opened a new file. The final chapter. The last, final chapter. The one he'd never expected to write, never once in all the last three years. The chapter where he admitted that despite three years of working closely with his main subject study, he, as guide, had learned absolutely nothing of value. Nothing that meant anything except that he had failed his sentinel. 

* * *

The morning was grey when Blair left his office. Grey and dry. His coat had survived his excursion into Noah-land and he did up the buttons as he got to his car. Keeping careful track of the traffic, he drove the short distance required, found a park and walked along the pavement. 

It was a nice street. Trees just budding with new leaves, anticipating the summer just as much as he was. Yeah, a very nice street. 

Marc was waiting for him, a smile on his face, hand raised with keys jangling in the air. "Didn't think I'd find something so nice, so quickly - but I rang them yesterday after you left and they want a quick decision. Have you got time to look around?" 

"Sure." Blair nodded, "Let's go in." 

Marc contained his excitement as he went up the front steps of a small house. He opened the door and let Blair go in first. It was a little dark. Not too dark for sentinel eyes, of course. Jim would have had no problem finding if there were cracks in the ceiling, damp creeping up the walls. But for Blair, who was pretty much blind, it seemed as nice as it could be. 

He walked from the entrance hall through into the lounge area, his shoes clattering on bare floorboards. There'd been some renovations done to the old building, revealing two tall roof supports and a red brick wall surrounding the fireplace. 

Blair smiled at it. Like it was an old friend. 

"There's two bedrooms upstairs," Marc said evenly, "and another tiny thing out past the kitchen. The garden's not much but that can be fixed." 

Blair shook his head at the fireplace and turned to look up at the ceiling, glance out the windows. The place was nice. Very nice. His things would look great in here, gathered together with Marc's massive book collection. The rugs would fit fine on the floor, maybe a lounge there by that wall, close to the fireplace. Something in a red, to match the brick. 

Very nice indeed. 

"Where were you last night?" 

"At work." 

"The station or Ranier?" 

Blair wandered through to cast an eye over the kitchen. "My office." 

"I tried calling you but…" 

"I switched my cell off. Had a lot of work to catch up on." 

Back out in the living room, Blair cast one more look around. One last look. "I can't do this, you know?" 

He could hear the frown in Marc's voice but didn't want to see it. "Do what?" 

"This." Blair raised his arms, indicating the house, them, everything. "Us. This. I can't live with you. I can't see you any more." 

Marc strode up to him, put solid hands on his shoulders, forcing his gaze up to meet hard brown eyes, "You do this for a living? Breaking hearts?" 

"I'm sorry." 

"Bullshit! It's him, isn't it? Your guy? Where were you last night?" 

"I told you, at work. I slept on the floor of my office. And no, it's got nothing to do with Jim." 

"Jim? Jim? You tell me his name, now, in the same breath you tell me it's all over? Jesus Christ, Blair!" 

And Blair dropped his voice, took the hands from his shoulders, held them between his own, speaking softly, gently, "You knew all along this was going to happen. That's why you kept reminding me, so you wouldn't lose track. So you were guarded against this." 

"Didn't stop me falling in love with you!" 

"No - but I never asked you to. Never really… wanted that. You knew all of this that first night we sat in the bar. You were clever and perceptive enough to notice how bad I hurt, smart enough to be direct about it from the start. I've never hidden from you how I feel about him. Please, don't be any more angry than you have to be. You'll heal quicker that way." 

Marc looked away then, pulling in a breath, holding it, letting it out. "Okay, go, then. Just do it. Go back to him. It's what you wanted all along." 

"Marc, look at me." When finally that gaze met his once more, Blair continued, "This has nothing to do with Jim. This has to do with you and me. We've had a lot of fun and I really did enjoy it - but… we're not cut out for each other, really we're not. We're too alike. Too… easy. I push you and you don't push back. And you've never pushed me at all. It's not right, it's not good and if I moved in with you, in six months, I'd be moving back out again. You know that as well as I do." 

Shaking his head, Marc stepped back, let go Blair's hands and turned away. "Just get the hell out of here!" 

And Blair turned then, walked to the door. It stood wide open before him, a thin grey sky beckoning him onwards. He began to walk out - and only at the last second did he cast a glance back the way he'd come - to find Marc standing there, watching him go. 

* * *

It had taken the greatest force of discipline Jim had ever exercised to stop himself from listening. Instead, he kept his place, leaning against a van parked down the street, keeping watch on the house through the rear mirror, his presence out of sight. 

He watched them go in and he waited. And not too long after, he watched Blair come back out. Alone. 

Then he listened to the unique sounds of Blair's car start up, drive off. Only when he was sure it wasn't coming back this way, did he finally move from his place. He crossed the road and approached the house in time to see the other man come out, shut and lock the door behind him. Unaware that he was being observed, the man sat down on the bottom step, put his head in his hands and stayed there. 

Jim paused at the gate, not needing to go further. "You're Marc?" 

The young man started and looked up, eyes wide for a moment. Then quickly he scrambled to his feet. "It's… you're him, aren't you. Jim?" 

>From the look on Marc's face, Jim didn't bother to confirm the assumption. "Where's Blair gone?" 

"How the hell should I know?" Marc came down the short path a way, stopping and just staring at Jim. "Jesus - have you any idea how much alike we are? God, we're even the same height! Fuck this!" 

"Look…" 

"Oh, man, just leave me the fuck alone. This is exactly what I wasn't looking for. Blair's gone, okay? He's left me. We've just broken up so I don't want to hear whatever it is you've got to say to me. Hell, this just isn't my day." 

Frowning, Jim shook his head, "He's left you?" 

"Yeah, just now. Won't be coming back, won't be moving in. Got the picture?" 

"Why?" 

"Oh, fuck off!" Marc pushed past him then, began stalking off to his car. Before Jim could move however, he paused and turned. "Look, I just need to know one thing. Why can't you love him?" 

For long seconds, Jim couldn't form a response. Then, without replying, he simply turned and headed for the truck. 

* * *

How the hours ticked by, Jim never really knew. He finished one report after another, hoping for some desperately horrible major crime to be committed just so he could get out of this place. Away from these walls, away from Salvatori and Feleni, away from murders that wouldn't solve and from captain's eyes that wouldn't leave him. Away from questions and paper, humming computers and harsh fluorescent lights. Just the fuck away. 

He looked at his watch again, for the tenth time in an hour. He could go home soon. Hell, he could go home now. But home wasn't home any more so what was the point? 

Neither was work - so what was the point there? 

What was the point to any of it? 

Letting out his hundredth sigh for the day, he lifted the pile of finished files from one side of his desk and stood to put them on the trolley. 

And that's when he saw Blair. Standing at the door to the bullpen, his gaze on Jim, ignoring the greetings thrown in his direction. It had been a quiet day all round, only a few people about. 

Even so, Jim hadn't noticed that familiar heartbeat enter the building, come up the lift. Hadn't noticed a thing. 

And now Blair stood there, like an ancient Greek statue, neither in nor out of Jim's space, but treading on a line between them, unwilling to commit. Cool blue eyes watched him as though for the first time, the palest of frowns creasing the brow, hair pulled back revealing a steady jaw. 

He was wearing different clothes to this morning, so he'd been at the loft some time today. That was the only other thing Jim noticed before Blair moved and came slowly towards him. 

After what seemed like hours, Blair finally reached his desk. Jim sensed he had something in his hand but for the life of him, he couldn't break that gaze, so steady, so complete it frightened him. 

Blair moved again, placing something on the desk before him. He glanced down at it, forcing Jim to do the same. It was small, square, leather and Jim recognized it immediately. Blair's consultant ID. 

Ice flashed through him and he looked up. Once more his gaze locked with Blair's, knowing so much and knowing so very damned little. Too little. Almost nothing. Only enough to make him speak. One single question. Letting it kill him as he did. 

"How long will you need?" 

Blair seemed to be struggling - then let out a breath. "A couple of hours. Most of it's done already. Just a few more boxes and that's it." 

"Yeah. Okay. A couple of hours." 

And then there was silence again. No movement. Nothing. 

Emptiness had never weighed this much before, pressing down on Jim, making him work hard just to stay alive. But it was like there wasn't anything else, just him and Blair, watching each other, saying goodbye without uttering a word. 

"I love you." Blair's whisper broke the silence, soft and deadly, invisible to the real world. Eyes clouded for a second - and then he was walking away, leaving. 

Gone. 

* * *

The banging went on and on, louder and louder until it was joined with yelling, fierce and angry. 

"Damn it, Jim open this door or I will personally kick it down!" Bang bang bang, kick kick. "Jim! This is not a request. It's an order. I have a sledge-hammer with me so you've got five seconds to open this door before you lose it forever! Damn you, Ellison! Open this door. NOW!!!" 

"Okay, okay," Jim swung unsteadily from the couch and ambled towards the door, stepping on something as he went. He glanced down and noticed it was last night's pizza. Squashed. 

"Jim!" 

He left the pizza where it was, largely because he heard the first swing of the threatened hammer. He undid one lock after another and stepped back before opening the door, just in case. 

Simon stood there, a blazing tower of fury, arms raised, ready to force entry, cigar clamped firmly between his teeth. "You're gonna kill me one, day, Ellison and I swear, you won't even bat an eyelid." 

"Oh, come on, Simon, it's not that bad." And to back it up, Jim gave him his best smile - at least, he hoped it was his best smile. Without a mirror, it was impossible to tell. 

Slowly, Simon lowered the hammer and pushed passed Jim into the loft. "Not that bad? I've been calling you for the last week. Twice you bothered to pick up the phone to tell me to fuck off. The rest of the time you ignored me. You've had Connor, Rafe, H and Taggart and half the bloody force down here one time or another, all trying to get you to open that damned door and you remain oblivious to the lot. I've had to assign all your cases elsewhere because the DA wants something done with the Salvatori matter and isn't interested when I tell him my best detective has just told me to fuck off." 

"You told him I said that?" Jim let out a giggle and pushed the door closed. "How did he take it?" 

"Are you drunk?" Simon paused in his tirade to peer closely at Jim, staring in his eyes. "Christ, you look like shit. Where's Sandburg?" 

"Dunno. Somewhere. Not here. Bring any food with you? I'm hungry." 

"Are you drunk?" 

Jim shuffled around him. "Nah. Haven't had a thing to drink in, oh, um, maybe an hour. Why, wanna beer?" 

"No, I don't want a beer!" 

"Only I haven't got any. Rang an order through just before you started making all that racket. Should be here soon but it's not always cold. I hate it when they don't deliver cold beer. Come and look, Simon." 

When Simon didn't move, Jim felt it necessary to grab his sleeve. The cop wasn't much interested but Jim persisted, tugging with just enough force to get him to move. "Come on, it's good. Really." Jim tried to fire a little enthusiasm in his boss and eventually, Simon went with him. Smiling now, Jim brought him to the door of the downstairs bedroom and waved his arm inside, displaying proudly the new décor. 

"Like it?" 

"Jesus, Jim, what have you done?" 

Jim frowned. Gazing around the small space, looking for something he'd missed. There was nothing there that he could see, no stick of furniture, no floor covering, no curtains, no paint on the walls. He'd even managed to remove not only the light fittings, but the wires as well - all without electrocuting himself. He'd gone over the room in almost microscopic detail only that morning. He was sure he'd removed every single spec of matter Blair might have touched in three years. How could he have missed something? 

Simon was shaking his head. Jim couldn't understand it. Hadn't he done a good job? Not that it wasn't a little typical of his captain not to notice his hard work, but this was an extra special effort. Surely it deserved at least some recognition. 

"So you don't like it?" 

Simon turned and faced him, saying nothing for a second. Then he nodded, "Yes, it looks good, Jim. Now come on and sit down. I need to talk to you." 

"Okay." 

Happy now, Jim turned and headed back to the couch, carefully kicking away last night's - no - the night before's pizza, so his captain wouldn't have to step in it. He flopped down and stuck his feet on the table, dislodging three empty bottles which clattered to the floor. "Oh, don't worry about those. They're empty. Go on, Captain, sit, sit." 

Simon took the chair, pushing a wad of newspapers off before he sat. "Listen, Jim…" 

"Do you know anything about anthropology?" 

"What? No, not much. Why?" 

"Good. Just thought I was going to get a lecture, that's all. They usually start with the words 'I need to talk to you'. Not always of course. Sometimes they start with, 'Hey, man, that is so not the case.' Or, on a really good day, the lecture begins with the answer to a simple question like, 'Yeah, thanks, Jim, I'd love a cup of coffee and hey, man, did you know that coffee originally…' Actually, there's about a dozen others I could entertain you with - but of course, without the backup material, it just doesn't work, does it?" 

"No. Jim… I'd like you to see a doctor." 

"Nah. Don't like them much. Besides, I'm not injured and you know they always want to give me drugs that muck up my senses. Don't worry, Simon, I'm not going mad. Actually, I feel better than I have all year so there's no need for a doctor is there?" 

"Still, I'd like you to see…" 

"Damn, where's that delivery? I'm thirsty. Hey, Captain, fancy a pizza? They deliver real quick." 

"Why? You don't seem to be eating them." 

Jim raised his eyebrows and glanced around. "Yeah, well, they were cold by the time I wanted to eat them and I don't know about you, but I hate cold pizza. Blair says it tastes good with mayonnaise but he never lets me eat that much fat in one meal. Actually, Blair says that there's the same amount of fat in two slices of pizza than a whole normal meal." 

"Where is he?" 

"Dunno. Well? Do want a pizza or not?" 

Simon just stared at him and, a trifle annoyed now, Jim just sat back, "Okay, suit yourself. No pizza." 

"Jim, I need you to tell me where Sandburg is." 

"I don't know why you keep talking about him. He doesn't live here any more." 

"I can see that." 

"And I've already said a hundred times, I don't know where he is." 

"That's the point, nobody does. He resigned from Ranier, took his dissertation with him. Didn't leave a forwarding address. I need to find him - today." 

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go, go. I can drink on my own. Come back later and we'll have that pizza." 

"Forget the fucking pizza, Jim!" Simon stormed up. Without preamble, he grabbed Jim's shirt and hauled him to his feet. "I need to find Sandburg! And I need you to pull yourself together! Don't make me use violence to do it." 

"Hey, Simon, what's your problem?" 

Simon was so close, Jim's nose was instantly full of cigar breath and he turned away, wrinkling his face up. 

"You two are due in Vegas in three days - or had you forgotten? You're to testify to put that bastard Vanetti behind bars. Remember? Almost a year ago to the day, you and Sandburg witnessed the murder of a fifteen year-old girl and Vanetti was holding the knife. We're going to put him away and you're going to go to Vegas and help do it. Now I need to find Sandburg and make sure he gets there and you," he gave Jim a shake, "are going to help me find him." 

"Okay, okay. I can do that." 

Simon let him go. "So you do know where he is?" 

"Aw, hell, Simon, forget Sandburg. He's gone, I told you. No, I'll go to Vegas. I'll testify. It's not a problem. Just point me in the right direction. Glad you reminded me. Knew I had something in my diary this week but I haven't seen it since Blair left me and now I can't find… can't find…" 

Jim landed on his knees without any idea how he got there. 

Simon met him down there, his voice nice and quiet, just the way Jim preferred it. "What can't you find, Jim?" 

"Anything. He just moved it out with him. Sentinel supposed to have a guide but I lost mine." Jim took in a breath. "Simon?" 

"Yes?" 

"Why are you crying?" 

"I'm not crying, Jim." 

"Don't worry. I'll shape up. I promise. I'll be able to testify." 

Simon's voice sounded like sticky molasses. "Of course you will. You'll do fine." 

"Only I'll need a bit of help is all. Just thought I'd tell you. I know you can't read my mind. Blair always did that for me. That was part of it." 

"Part of what?" 

"The thing. You know? What we had. Before…" 

"Before he left?" 

Jim had to shake his head to get his point across. "No, way before that. Before we went to Vegas, to identify Vanetti. It was good then. I mean, we were in love and we knew that but we never did anything about it, you know, because it would have been a… dis… a distr…" 

"Distraction?" 

"Tha's right. Hey, you're not as drunk as I thought you were." 

Simon smiled at him. A nice smile and Jim appreciated it, would have said so if he thought he could get the word out. "A distraction from what, Jim?" 

"The bond. You know, sentinel and guide, me and Blair." 

Simon settled on the ground before him, pulled out his cell and pressed a button. Quietly, he gave orders and Jim only listened to a few words. Something about coffee and food and clothes from his apartment. He could hear Connor's voice but didn't bother about what she said. She was a good girl. She'd follow orders. 

Eventually, Simon put the phone away and turned back to Jim. "Tell me about the bond." 

"Nothing to tell." Jim shrugged. "S'all gone now." Jim was tired. Wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. But that would be rude with Simon here and all. 

"Okay, tell me how it used to be. Before Vegas." Simon put his arm under Jim's elbow. "Come on, lie down on the couch and get comfortable." 

"That's what it was like." Jim nodded, doing as he was told. He'd help me with my senses and I told him what was happening. Like you know I'm tired. Like he knew what I needed, sometimes before I did. Like I always knew where he was if he was around. Like if he needed something, I didn't have to think much about it, I knew. If he wanted some coffee while he worked, I'd be making it before I noticed his cup was empty. It jus happened that way. And if I was hurting he'd know what to say to me, how to make it right. Knew how t'make me say the words, made 'em make sense. 

Jim stretched out and closed his eyes. "Blair was so sad." A light humming sigh came out of him and he wondered if he should try a bit of singing - but he was too tired. Really way too tired. "Everything made sense. I could be a sentinel 'cause Blair was my guide." 

He felt a blanket being drawn over him, and he sighed, rolling onto his side. "But we threw it all away." 

Now the sentinel has no guide, and the guide has no sentinel. 

"Go to sleep, Jim. I'll be here when you wake up." 

No guide, no sentinel. No nothing. 

* * *

As Simon heard another car drive up, he headed towards the door, opening it softly, not to disturb Jim. The man had been out for an hour already and hopefully would stay that way for a few more yet. 

He heard the lift rumble and waited for the door to open. Connor and Rafe emerged, carrying bags of things. He took Rafe's share but remained in the doorway. "Thanks, Rafe. You go back to the station now." 

"You sure, Captain? I mean…" 

"Just go. Jim will be okay - and the fewer who know about this the better." 

Rafe nodded, "Okay, sir. I understand." He caught the lift before it closed and a moment later, Simon was alone with Connor in the hall. 

"Look, I just want to say this once, okay?" 

"What?" 

"You don't talk about this to anyone but me. Not to Jim, not Sandburg, not even to Rafe. A man's dignity is a precious thing, Connor and Jim's already been through enough - and there's more to come when he sobers up." 

Connor nodded, "Don't worry about it, Captain. She'll be right." 

So Simon took her in and noted with satisfaction how she made no comment about the mess - even though Simon had spent the last hour trying to clean some of it up. 

They worked quietly, between them, getting the place back into some kind of shape so that it was at least tidy if not clean. Not Jim Ellison type clean, anyway. Then, as Simon took the trash downstairs, Connor began work on a meal, brewing up a large quantity of coffee. 

It was almost seven pm by the time they were done. The nights were drawing out longer but not so long that they didn't have to put any lights on. When Simon finished his share of the work, could smell something good from the oven, he wandered over to where Connor stood by the door of Sandburg's old room. 

"He's really done it, hasn't he?" 

"Done what?" Simon peered over her shoulder but the room only made him uncomfortable. 

"Killed Sandy off." 

"You don't mean that literally, I hope?" 

"No, of course not. What I mean is, he's acting like Sandy's dead - not just gone. Jim's in mourning." 

"No kidding," Simon replied dryly. Maybe he could afford a few minutes on the balcony, actually light up the cigar he'd been chewing since he got here. 

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" 

"Do I have a choice?" 

"Captain," Connor turned to look at him. "I'm a human being, too, you know. I care about these guys. We all do." 

"So, what do you think happened?" 

To that, Connor only shook her head, turning away from the room. "'That which does not kill us, makes us stronger.'" 

"Yeah, well maybe you should try telling Jim that." 

"He knows already, Captain. That's what this is about." 

* * *

Simon had his cigar and finished just as Connor was bringing the food out of the oven. He hadn't asked her to cook - but was glad she'd offered. He turned to head back inside in time to see Jim roll himself off the couch. Without a word to either of them, he trudged through to the bathroom and the sound of running water filled the silence for a while. 

Connor served up for all of them, putting plates on the table. Jim finally emerged from the bathroom showered, still unshaven but looking a little less like something the cat had dragged in. With little more than a grunt, he took a seat at the table, regarding the plate of food as a man on the executioner's block would view the axe. 

"Jim…" 

"Yeah, I know, I have to eat. I just need to take my time, okay?" 

"Okay." 

So they ate in silence. Simon and Connor finished long before Jim. Connor stayed out the way, cleaning up, washing dishes. After a minute, Simon joined her in the kitchen - less because he wanted to help and more because he didn't want Jim thinking he was being watched. 

After another ten minutes, Jim brought his plate in, stuck it in the sink and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he leaned back against the counter and folded his arms, his gaze on the floor about ten paces away. "Have you tried Naomi's number?" 

"Twice. Enough to worry her," Simon replied. 

"Well, don't call her again so she thinks she has to fly in. Only call her if we find out something bad has happened, okay?" 

"Sure." 

Jim paused a minute, obviously thinking, "He has a friend in New York, Ruth I think her name is. Don't know her last name but she works at the Met. At least, she did last September." 

"I'll put in a call." 

"How long's he been gone?" 

Simon threw a glance of warning at Connor before replying, "Ten days." 

"Well, that's enough time for him to get to Calgary - assuming his car could make it that far. A couple of guys he went to college with own a bookshop there. He's kept in touch." 

"Names?" 

"One's Phil - but the shop's called Mackie's. He used to order history texts from them. I saw the packaging a few times. Oh, and you could try the Elliott Bay Bookshop in Seattle. He'd ordered something really important from them a few weeks ago. I heard him. He might still think it's important enough to call them, change the delivery address." 

"Good idea. Connor?" 

"Getting it all down, Captain." 

Turning back to Jim, Simon continued, "What about here, in Cascade? You must know a few people he would go to? I… er… understand he was seeing a guy?" 

"He's not in Cascade, Simon." Jim looked up at this, a dead finality in his eyes. "I know. He's not here." 

"Well," Simon shrugged, "maybe one of them knows where he went." 

But Jim was shaking his head. "Simon, he's lived here for upwards of three years, worked with us almost that whole time. Don't you think he's learned by now how to avoid us tracing him? I wouldn't even bother putting an APB out on his car. He's probably sold it." 

"You're saying he doesn't want to be found." 

"No, he doesn’t." 

"How can you be sure?" 

And Jim levelled a gaze at him that spoke all the words Simon didn't need to hear. Yes, Jim would know. 

"That's all I can think of for the moment. I'll call you if I get any other ideas. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go to bed." 

Simon sucked in a breath and nodded. "You'll be okay?" 

"Sure," Jim shrugged. "I'm a big boy. I can manage on my own." 

Turning for the door, Simon gestured to Connor to precede him. "Just don't do anything stupid." 

"Captain?" 

"What?" Simon glanced back at him and saw the frown. 

"Don't expect me to be grateful you pulled me out of it. I might be tomorrow - but not tonight." 

"Okay," Simon ventured a smile. "I can roll with that." 

* * *

For what seemed like the first time in months, the sun was shining as Simon helped Jim pack the truck. He'd offered again and again to fly the man down to Las Vegas but Jim wanted to drive so there was no argument. 

There were only a couple of bags, enough for two weeks, should the trial go that long. As a major witness, Jim had to remain on standby the whole time - and Simon was well aware how waiting around wore on the patience of his best detective. 

And Jim had pulled himself together. Sharply. Simon had called by the day before to find Jim just returning from a ten mile run. He found out later that the run had been followed by a three hour stint at the gym. 

Punishing himself? 

Or trying to forget? 

Jim closed the back door of the truck and opened the driver's side, ready to get in. "I guess I'd better get going if I want to get there before Christmas." 

"Right." Simon stepped back a little, trying to see some shreds of life in the dull grey eyes. "Look, Jim, I know Sandburg cancelled his order at Elliott Bay - but that's not necessarily a bad sign. At least it means he's still aware and focussed." 

"As opposed to what?" Turning slowly, Jim levelled a look of patience at him. "Behaving like I did? Pathetic? Drunk? No way would he do something so damned stupid. Besides, he doesn't need to. He can pack up and leave. I'm the one who has to stay and live with it." 

"Christ, Jim, don't hate the kid!" 

"I don't have any choice. Until he went, all we had left was love. Now there's not even that. Look, just forget it, okay? Hopefully I'll be back in a week and I promise things will be normal again." He started up the motor and placed his hands on the wheel, ready to go. 

Simon's phone rang and he grabbed it, holding up a hand to make Jim pause. The message was delivered without preamble and Simon let out a huge sigh of relief. Ending the call, he stepped closer to the truck. "That was Connor. She's just had a call from the Vegas hotel. Sandburg rang them this morning to book a separate room. He'll be flying in tonight." 

If he'd expected any reaction, he wouldn't have known Jim Ellison very well. As it was, all he got was a brief nod. "See you." 

And then he drove off and Simon could do no more to help his friend. 

* * *

Cars, trucks, bikes, vans, on and on they went, behind him, in front, passing him. He was an island on the road, watching other lives drift past him, effortlessly. 

Hours and hours. 

Mile after mile. 

Fleeting glimpses of towns and cities, flashes of warmth in the sunshine. 

He was going back to Vegas. Back south. Back in time. 

And there would be no trip to the Grand Canyon, no gentleness to break his fall, no hands to soothe the sharpness inside. 

But he'd been here before, in this place, on this island. Alone in his life for more years than not, he'd learned the game of survival, as a boy, as a soldier, as a castaway in Peru. As an outcast. He'd learned the rules, knew them by heart, had taught them to… 

He was dead. And he knew it. Dead but still moving, the body yet to decay. He was dead because it no longer hurt. He felt nothing - and feeling was life. 

So he was dead. 

And still his island travelled through the sea of life. 

* * *

The instruments of torture were no less than five coach-loads of Japanese tourists, the majority of whom appeared to want to pass through the hotel lobby at pretty much the same time. 

After spending all night on the road, that was probably about the last thing Jim wanted to deal with. At first, he tried standing just outside the permanently open doors, which stopped and started, groaning and clunking in some desperate effort to be allowed the dignity of safe operation. But the crowd didn't appear to want to move far so Jim pushed his way inside. 

He forgot to dial down his hearing. 

Stifling a groan, he adjusted quickly - or as quickly as his exhausted brain would allow - and crept forward, towering over the excited clumps of black-haired gangsters, robbing him of his own semblance of dignity. 

The journey to the desk seemed to take as long as the one from Cascade but eventually, bruised, shin-kicked and wrung-out, he finally got there, dumping his bags between his feet, just in case. 

A weary but smiling clerk greeted him, handed him the usual cards and paperwork and eventually, a passkey. When he could finally bring himself to, he glanced down and didn't even register relief to discover it wasn't the same room as last time. 

Of course not. Why get a twin room when he was alone now? 

The crush of people around the elevators was only a little less intimidating - but he needed the warm bed he knew was waiting for him so didn't even consider pausing at the restaurant to get some breakfast. Simon had saved money on the flight - he could damn well fork out for room service. 

But he did consider asking a question of the desk clerk. After all, it was only sensible. But when he opened his mouth the words came out forced and not at all sensible-sounding. 

"Has Mr Sandburg checked in yet?" 

The clerk made a 'customer service' flurry of checking up, running the name through his computer, nodding, smiling, doing his level best under the most trying circumstances. 

"Yes, sir, late last night. Would you like his room number?" 

"No." The answer was out before Jim had registered the question. 

"Would you like to leave a message for him?" 

"No." He registered this one - but didn't stay long for more. He nodded thanks and headed for the lift, raising his bags over those heads again, desperate for some bloody quiet. 

Pressing the button, waiting and waiting, that road seeming to go on forever only now his island was being overrun with a plague of ants and if he didn't get some sleep soon he was going to… 

The door opened and he was almost swept away in the rushing tide of more bodies, all shorter than him, all raising the cacophony to the point where he wished he could simply switch his hearing off. 

He stepped inside and turned around. The doors were about to close when an elderly couple, no less ravaged by the torrent, hurried to make it in time. On reflex, he put his hand on the door, keeping it open so they wouldn't have to run. They smiled their thanks, squeezed past him and he - 

Saw the crowd by the desk clear - 

…went to move his hand and - 

Saw the Black Sea part - 

…doors jerking under his hand, requesting to shut and he - 

Saw Blair. 

By the desk. In profile. Hand on the surface. 

Blair. 

Who seemed to be talking. Then not. Then turning. Turning as though he knew, just knew… 

And he looked at Jim - 

…his hand slipped and the doors closed with a grateful clunk. Immediately, the lift swung into action, effortlessly sweeping them upwards. 

When it stopped and let the couple out, Jim didn't notice. 

He wasn't dead. Not dead at all. 

Jim was alive. And he felt - everything. 

* * *

It had been okay, yeah okay. Right, fine, no problem. Not even getting on the plane. That had been okay, too. Flying, well, not fun, but okay, like he could survive it and get back down in one piece so that wasn't a problem. So it had been okay so far and he was doing fine, you know just fine. Like he could do this. 

But then, coming back in this morning, from a walk, trying to clear the air-conditioning from his head, he'd gone for a walk and that had been a good idea too, remind him what this place looked like from the ground, in daylight, so he'd gone for a walk - and come back to find all these people here and all he could think of was that he hoped Jim would miss it one way or the other because that kind of thing always bothered him, so much noise, you know, too much noise and too many smells, all this pressure on his eardrums and he'd have to dial everything down so low, but he wouldn't remember to do it in time and he'd end up with a headache. 

So he'd managed to survive getting through all these people, hoping Jim was gone already or not arrived, because he didn't know when Jim was coming here only that he was coming, right, because he had to, like Blair did, you know, simply because he had to and they had to testify, so he made it to the desk and was asking, well, trying to ask if there were any messages for him because, knowing Simon, he'd leave a message and say something sharp about being damned glad that Blair had bothered to turn up to do his duty, so he was asking about that and not asking about whether Jim had arrived when he'd felt this… this… thing… this… 

And he'd turned his head, thinking this is all crazy and there is way too many people in here to think let alone see and then he did see and he did see Jim, in the lift, watching him - 

Then he was gone. 

And then it wasn't okay any more and he just had to get out of there and just turned and almost knocked over some people and headed for the stairs because he needed some exercise, and had to get somewhere safe and quiet, so he ran up the stairs, all of them, ten flights, all the way up because he just didn't have the energy to risk trying the lift, but he had all this other energy so he ran all the way up to his floor. 

So he got to his room and he got the door closed before anybody could see there was a lunatic pacing the floor and he couldn't sit still any more, couldn't just sit around and wait for it to happen because it had already happened, hadn't it. Already ended and finished, cremated and ashes scattered across three lives maybe even more, though of course he hadn't really considered how Simon and the others were feeling about it. Stood to reason they must know something, but certainly not much, not as much as Jim but probably less than Marc and as for Blair, well he didn't know shit. 

* * *

Yeah, he listened. Sitting in his room he listened. Now that he knew it was there, he couldn't drag his attention from it. Couldn't hear anything else, not even the Japanese mayhem downstairs. He zoned. Did it deliberately. Focussed on one sound and one sound alone. 

The heartbeat. 

Fast, pounding, exerted, blood rushing, lungs forced, feet running, door slamming and then just the heartbeat, feeding on air, thriving on it, living on it, slowing, steadying, returning. 

And then Jim returned too, emerging from a self-imposed zone without any trouble at all. Still he kept a light touch on that pulse, a fine thread of attention, a connection, an invisible filament reaching from his room on the 17th floor to Blair's on the 10th. 

Seven degrees of separation. 

He didn't bother showering. Didn't bother eating. Didn't even bother taking off more than his shoes. He simply laid back on the bed, got comfortable and went to sleep. 

* * *

They were waiting for him. He'd known they would be and he'd known he would end up taking so long to get his head around all this that he'd deliberately started getting ready early. By his watch, he was only a couple of minutes late, this time. Better than last time. 

Not that he wanted to go in there. Into the restaurant where the Vegas prosecutor et al were waiting for him, to have a chat before court tomorrow. Not that he exactly wanted to go in there. But he was calm, mostly. Calm. Better than before. A hot shower and two vodkas had given him that much. Hadn't caught up on last night's sleep, but he could do that later, after this chat. 

And of course, Jim was already there, wasn't he? On-time, square-cut, reliable, impossible Jim. Sitting at the table with his back to the door so he wouldn't be staring at it waiting for him to come in. 

Not that Jim was likely to acknowledge his presence. Safe bet, that one. Would have offered odds on it in a place like this. 

So he got to the table. Only a little short of breath but basically about as calm as he was ever going to be. The guys in the suits stood and shook his hand, sat down again, leaving him a chair next to the big block of stone wearing black jeans and a polo shirt. Said block didn't so much as turn a hair. 

Big winner, Sandburg! Congratulations! You have just won… 

Zip. 

The questions started, nothing too hard, a quick run over the way they thought the first day of the trial would go. No need for them to go down there since they wouldn't be testifying until the next day but if they wanted to, they could, just in case. No problem. Yeah, okay, this part was easy. 

But the day after, Tuesday, Blair would be testifying first, a tactical move, expert witness kind of thing, him being a trained observer and all, then back that up with Jim's testimony the day after. Both expected to occupy the stand - or at least, needed to be there for a whole day. Then on-call for any cross that came up. So it was going to take a week, maybe two to put this guy away. Would have been easier if he could have got himself arrested in Cascade. But no, the idiot had gone and robbed a pawn shop, killed the owner and was being tried for both crimes at the same time. He was bound to go away for at least one of them. Since the girl's folks had come from Vegas, nobody had argued the jurisdiction angle. So it was all happening here, in this spot, this dried up little twisted lump of electrified metal hogging the centre of an otherwise decent bit of desert. 

So he hated Vegas. They could just try suing him. 

The busy guys in the suits stood again, some more hand-shaking went on and then they were walking out of the restaurant and Blair was going along behind because he really didn't think he wanted to be accused of sitting next to a block of stone in a place like this. With hair like his, somebody might think he was the Sphinx. 

* * *

It took a moment for Jim to realize that he was actually surprised the district courthouse didn't have flashing neon lights the way everything else in this city had. Shouldn't be surprised - after all, he'd been here before. 

Never much liked going to court. Seemed a little pointless as a detective, going over bits of evidence that way. On the other hand, there was the boundless satisfaction of watching any number of bastards get put away. 

But he'd gone anyway, the first day, Monday. Had nothing else to do. Wasn't about to go gambling. He'd already taken all the risks he'd ever wanted to. Was pretty sure there wasn't an establishment in this place who would bankroll any efforts he might make. 

Not sure why he was here today, though. Today was Blair's day, though of course, Jim might be edged in late in the afternoon so he did have an excuse. 

He didn't watch. 

Couldn't stand the way the heartbeat always spiked when he was around. Didn't like knowing that Blair was afraid of him. Didn't like feeling there was a good reason for it. 

So he sat outside, on the stone steps. Kept track of things without much effort. Listened to the voice, calm, not provoked by the cross-examination. Left nothing out. A little husky and worn as he recalled watching a sixteen-year-old girl murdered before his eyes. Did a good job. 

When it was time, when court was adjourned, when he could hear the heartbeat drift closer towards the door, Jim rose and left. 

* * *

He was free of it and that felt so damned good, you know? Great in fact. Wouldn't, with any luck, have to go over any of it ever again. Something had been buried yesterday and it felt fine knowing it was unlikely to be exhumed. 

He'd been congratulated by the suit-guy, more hand-shaking and told he was free. 

Yeah, free. 

So why did he come back on Wednesday? Why sit here, in the gallery, knowing who was down there in the witness box, knowing he was sitting up here? Why? 

But he listened. Tried not to watch. Mostly listened, watching his hands until he remembered who they had touched, in this city, so long ago. That's when he'd gone out for a while, ten minutes or so, so he wouldn't distract anybody with some idiot panic attack. 

He went back, of course. Stayed the rest of the day. Stayed in his seat until he was sure the place was empty. Then he left. 

He crossed the street and wandered down to where all the big lights were gawping at passing trade, their cash almost visible in their pockets. He chose a place at random, drifting through pale pink palisades decked in trite gold trim and grotesque greco-roman parodies. If the Visigoths had only known. 

Easy to get lost in a place like this, one door looking much like another, rooms set out in a deliberate maze; once having trapped the fly in its lair, this spider wasn't letting go. But the noise and the constant buzz of bandits going off, clattering coins and glasses jingling gave him some sense of balance, some median strip he could tiptoe across and not worry about falling off. 

He found what he was looking for. A vacant machine. Flashing at him, tray open below a gaping maw, pretending to give rather than receive. Flying spaceship motif promising all the wealth in the world if only he would put that first coin in, if only he would make that move, calculate those odds. It was all there, just waiting for him. 

He fished into his pocket and pulled out the coins he'd gathered that morning. Ten bucks. A week's worth of gas in Cascade. A down payment on a really good book. A cheap t-shirt. Half a visit to the barber's. Five or so beers. Pizza for two. 

He weighted the coins in his hand, fingers flicking over each one, feeling softened edges, shallow-relief, but not looking. His gaze was drawn to the flashing motif, the impossibly pretentious space craft, darting from one side to the other, ostensibly firing shots in a battle of gargatuan proportions. Behind it all however, was nothing but a field of stars. 

Starlight… 

"… wanted starlight around us the first time I kissed you." 

He pushed a coin in, feeding it, stuffing it full again and again, pressing the buttons, collecting the coins from the tray and pushing them back in again and again and again… 

Until there were no more and he could stop now because he couldn't afford to lose more than ten bucks. 

The air left him and he closed his eyes, leaning his forehead on the smooth, plastic star-filled backdrop. 

It was okay now. Better than it was before. About as okay as it was going to get. And he was hungry. It was time for food. 

Time to rest. 

* * *

"Hey! Mr Sandburg? Blair! Wait up!" 

Blair was almost at the elevator when he heard the call. Turning, the suit-guy waved and smiled, gesturing him over to the hotel restaurant door. 

"Dinner? My treat. I've got good news." 

Blair didn't really want any kind of company right now but there wasn't really a way out of it without sounding rude. So he nodded and re-crossed the lobby. It was only when he began following the suit-guy in that he realised what a mistake he'd made. There, on the other side of the room, engaged in conversation with the other suit-guy, and sitting at the table they were obviously heading towards - was Jim. 

He clenched his hand, digging nails into his palms, anything to ward off the panic, the unholy, blinding, screaming panic which threatened to consume him. 

Mostly, it worked. 

The first suit-guy pulled up a chair for him, thrust a menu in his hands and refused to let him only order a glass of water. Numb, Blair picked an item at random. Didn't matter, he was unlikely to stick around long enough to eat it. The order was taken, beers delivered and then the suit-guy was holding court, regaling them with his summation of how well the case had gone so far, all a build-up to the moment when he said: 

"And two hours ago, Vanetti cracked - just like I thought he would. He knew we wouldn’t do a deal on two counts of murder - but he wants some protection largely because the people he's been working for populate half the prisons in this county and he knew what was coming. Apparently, listening for two days to absolutely shit-sharp convicting testimony, he decided enough was enough. Gave me enough names in fifteen minutes to keep our boys here occupied for a year. Not only that, but he gave me an interesting line on a case I think you two were working on, when you came here last year. Salvatori?" 

Blair looked up at that, the shift in the corner of his eye, telling him Jim's reaction was the same. 

"Yeah, gave me a few dates, times and places, and a name. I hate to say it, guys, but I think I've just cracked Salvatori's murder." 

"You've…" Blair didn't need to look to hear the smile in Jim's voice. "You've done all that - in fifteen minutes? Want my job? Take it!" 

Hands came across the table, congratulatory handshakes. Blair didn't need to look to hear Jim's laughter. 

But he did. 

Then wished he hadn't. 

Cold grey/blue flashed once at him before he ducked his head, compounding the error by focussing on his hands and suddenly there was no way he could control the panic attack… 

Except that suit-guy extraordinaire chose that moment to clap a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look up, forcing him to focus on something else. "So I guess you boys in Cascade can take a holiday now that we're doing your jobs for you. Any other cases you want us to clean up?" 

Blair managed a weak smile, a shake of his head. "I don't work for Cascade PD any more. You'd better ask Jim." 

A frown, a glance across the table. "Eh? They didn't sack you, did they? 'Cause you're not a cop? I thought you two were supposed to be the sharpest team on the block. What happened?" 

Everything happened. Everything thing except… 

"Blair decided it was time to move on. His position was only temporary, while he finished his dissertation. Now he's gone on to greener pastures." 

"Well, okay, that's fine. Congratulations, Sandburg! On the dissertation. Been accepted already?" 

He couldn't help it. His eyes just took on a life of their own and blindly rose to meet Jim's gaze. Across a table, across a restaurant, across a million miles, a chasm so vast not even space could fill it. 

But Jim did. A nod, half a smile for the suit-guys. "Yeah, it was accepted." Half a smile for the suit-guys, yeah, and a hard, hard gaze for Blair. 

Blair looked away. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can manage dinner. I've got this headache and I really need to get some sleep. Been a pretty long week with the travelling and everything." Blair stood, placing his napkin on the table. He offered a smile to the suit-hangers, a shrug and then turned, walking steadily, keeping his back to the room, making it eventually to the safety of the lift. 

Where he sagged against the wall the moment the doors were closed. 

Yeah, he was free alright. A free canary with an interest in anthropology, flying around frantically inside a tiny little cage, patrolled by a panther. 

* * *

It was so easy to hate. Remarkable how easy it was. The path was terribly straightforward, clearly signposted. Most fools found it without any trouble. 

Funny though, Jim wouldn't have picked the prosecutor for a fool. Not at first. Unfortunately he gave himself away the moment Blair disappeared out the door. 

He leaned forward, hand raised in a gesture at the missing partner, eyebrows furrowed, ready to be convinced otherwise and yet, allowing his words to be laced with sickly quantities of disgust. "Hey, is there something going on between you two? Something… you know…" 

And Jim smiled, mentally ticking off one signpost after another. He took his napkin from his knee, rose to his feet and tossed it on the table. "Yes. There is. Goodbye." 

Sensitive sentinel ears collected the word 'faggot' tossed after him as an afterthought but his path lay elsewhere and like a true pilgrim, he wasn't to be swayed. 

He went right past the lift and straight for the stairs, following the path, one foot after another, pausing only long enough to read each sign clearly, understand the warnings each displayed. A true believer, he carried on, leaving curses at each stage of the cross, one after another as his hatred grew and blossomed, hearing, tasting and smelling his goal draw nearer. 

Ten. Ten flights and out. Flights of stairs, leading up and now out. The door? He knew which one, could feel the connection in his hands, the thread thicken and contract as he got closer, burning now, pumped, ready and timed perfectly. 

Hate made him free, made his senses so sharp he would have been dizzy except that it kept him more grounded than Blair ever had, more centred, more balanced, more certain. 

He removed the stolen passkey from his pocket, listening softly, gently to the sounds beyond the door, sounds he knew so very, very well. Blair's heartbeat, Blair's breathing, Blair's body beneath the shower. Calm now that he was away from the danger. 

The door opened without a sound and he slipped into the darkened room. The last signpost waited before him, the last chance for him to commit fully, to end this once and for all. 

But there was no choice, never had been a choice for choice required a variety of paths, the will to decide and he'd never had any of that. He'd only ever had what he had to do, what had to be done, the time, the place, the person. The perfect murder. 

Death of a soul. 

The bathroom door was opened, his own fingers the instrument of salvation, of damnation - 

And there he received the first blessing. The spiked heartbeat, triggered by a change in the air, unexpected. Terrified. 

Head turning, eyes squinting through frosted glass, steamed up, blinding… 

"Who's there…" Hammering now, that heart. Dear heart. Hammering. "… Jim…" 

Freight train, feeding and fuelling, firing him on, making his feet move, taking him to the cubicle door, making him open it. 

"Jim! What are you… Jesus Jim I… I…" 

Hands reaching in, stepping in, hot water burning over burning flesh, putting no flames out, forcing them higher, brighter, incandescent. 

They touched flesh, wet flesh, shaking flesh, gasping flesh, terrified flesh, backing away, fighting, pushing, slipping, stumbling. 

To a halt against the wall. Eyes shut tight, mouth moving, saying useless words. 

"Jim, please, don't do this, please, Jim, don't…" 

Silenced by his own mouth, crushing, wounding, defiling, pouring out hatred in a gushing torrent. Hands grabbed those fighting him together, held them up against the slick tiles, pushing body against body, hurting, wanting to hurt, having no choice but to hurt. 

Face twists away, more words clashing with the spray of water crashing against them both, "Jim, you don't want to do this! Not like this. Please, Jim, oh god, please wait…" 

"Have to," he replies, grinding words out like meat through a mincer, bloody and mangled. "Have to do this." 

And he pushes the body hard against the wall, hand going down to the throat, other hand pinning him, holding him helpless, holding him in gaol, making him pay. Hand on the throat tightening, more pressure as eyes squeeze open, raining shower-water onto tender cheeks, mouth opening but no more sound coming out. Taking that mouth with his own again, making it his own again, making it stop. 

A last frantic twist and his prey can't escape. Neither can the hunter. But it's too late now. Far too late. Hunter and prey are one. 

"Have to do this." Hand leaves throat, moves down, down, past pleasure, past delight, down to hatred. Pushes legs apart, releases himself, positions himself. "Have to do this." 

"God, Jim PLEASE NOT LIKE THIS!" Voice little more than a wail, deafening against his heightened senses. 

"Have to have your face, see you, see you. Have to do this, Blair, have to…" And then, inside at last. At last. A howl of anguish, hands struggling, letting them go, letting them fall to his shoulders, holding him, crushing him, hating him in return. "Have to do this…" Beating slows, heartbeat slows… 

Not Blair's; his. 

Heartbeat. Both. 

Have to… 

Nothing. 

"Jim?" 

"Jim? Can you hear me?" 

"Jim?" 

"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. It's okay." 

"Please, Jim. Please." 

"Listen to me, Jim, listen. It's okay, Jim, you haven't hurt me. You have to hear me." 

"Jim? Jim?" 

"God! Help me! You can't make him go through this alone, please!" 

"Jim?" 

And that mouth was on his again, so startling, snatching his air, moving against him… moving… moving with… him… 

Arms holding him, holding him close, tight, wanting him, noises, needing, needing so much… 

Kissing him, lips of fire, greedy, needing. Yes, needing - 

Him. 

More movement, against his body, action and reaction, grasping, electrifying, dizzying and consuming. 

Trembling need, shaking voice, "Love me, Jim. Please. Need this, Jim…" 

Fire raking up his body. 

"Jim, please… move… need you…" 

Skin beneath his hands, so soft, so wonderful, wanting him, needing him. Touching it more as it presses closer, more of it to touch, more of it wanting him. 

"Yes, Jim… yes…" 

Finding him. Touching him, yes, touching him, feeling arousal grow, wanting to feel it. 

"Need this, Jim. Yes…" 

And they were one, moving as one, breathing as one, urged on as one, towards the edge, the terrible, wonderful, glorious edge. 

"Jim… please…" 

And over it, tumbling as one, falling, falling, all as one, one fire, one rage, one fury, one desire. 

Concluded in part three.


	3. Chapter 3

Due to length, this story has been split into three parts.

## Grand Canyon

By Jack Reuben Darcy

Author's homepage: <http://internetdump.com/users/angiet>

* * *

Grand Canyon - part three  
by Jack Reuben Darcy 

Blair held on as what were left of his lungs finally caught up, finally managed to give him some air. He could feel Jim's shoulders shaking, hear laboured breathing and simply held tighter. 

The shower was already washing away the evidence of their crime. The water, from a tank the size of which he couldn't imagine, was still hot, not chilling as it should have been. 

He hadn't wanted this. 

No. That wasn't true. He had wanted it. Wanted it enough to be afraid of it, afraid of Jim. And his fear had brought it this way, carried it to him on wings of need. 

Not just his need, but Jim's. A need to be exactly as they were. 

Trembling now, Jim began to move, to steady - but Blair didn't let him. Instead, he took Jim's head in his hands and held it to him, comforting where he knew no comfort could live. 

Minutes now, only seconds left. And then it would happen. 

* * *

"Oh, my god, Blair!" It was sharp, this pain, so damned sharp. Jim grabbed the body in his arms and held on tightly, hating himself more than he'd ever hated Blair. "Blair, I'm so sorry, so sorry… so…" 

But hatred ran out of words. He had none left. He had killed tonight. Killed his own soul. 

Still he held on, afraid to let go, afraid the arms around him would want to. 

But then Blair didn't let go. Blair just held him. Breathing steadily against his neck, his body flushed and hot under the water. And he spoke, "It's okay, Jim, it's okay. It's over. You didn't hurt me. Didn't rape me, okay? You didn't. It wasn't rape." 

"It was. It is." How Blair heard the whisper over the shower he didn't know. 

Then Blair's head lifted up, his face coming close, his mouth leaving soft kisses across Jim's, so very soft. He had to move. Those kisses made him move. Carefully, gently, he withdrew, setting Blair on his feet on the hard floor, softly, gently, tenderly. But still Blair didn't let him go. 

"No, Jim, I won't let you. You owe me this. It's only rape if I say so. And I don't. I wanted you." Blair's hands crept down his chest, touching him through wet cloth, down and down until they could lift the shirt up, up and over Jim's head. 

The relief was enormous. Weight coming off him, falling away. He swayed on his feet. 

"Do you love me?" 

"Yes." Swaying, ready to fall. 

"Do you hate me?" 

"No." 

Blair deftly removed the rest of Jim's clothing, pushing it out the way before bringing his hands up to Jim's shoulders. "Did you mean to rape me?" 

"No! Didn't want to…" 

"Do you love me?" 

"Yes. God, yes!" 

"Then hold me." 

"No! God, Blair, I raped you! How can you…" 

"You didn't rape me! I tried to convince you to wait. That's all. I never said no. It can't be rape." 

"But I…" 

"I could have stopped you. You know that. Didn't you teach me, yourself, how to avoid getting raped? You taught me how to survive something like this. You know I could have stopped you. I could have hurt you enough to stop you in your tracks. You taught me exactly how to do it a long time ago. You're bigger and stronger than me but I still could have stopped you." 

"Blair, you don't… Saying no isn't all…" 

"Do you love me?" 

"Yes, love you so much." 

And Blair kissed him, hard and deliberate. "Come to bed with me, Jim." 

"No." 

"Do you love me?" 

"Yes, Blair," Jim finally looked into sure blue eyes. "Yes, Blair. I love you." 

Blair looked up at him with some smile in his eyes, along with trepidation. And that hurt. 

"Then come to bed? Please?" 

A beautiful smile which faded as Jim shook his head, clearing it at last, properly and completely. "No. I know what you're trying to do and I can't let you. We both know what I did." 

"But, Jim…" 

He shook his head again. "No, Blair, no. It's over." 

Letting go, Jim turned and picked up his clothes, switching off the shower. He pushed the cubicle door open and stepped out. He grabbed a towel and pressed it into Blair's hands. He took the robe on the back of the door and pulled it around himself. He squeezed the worst of the water out of his clothes and opened the bathroom door. He got as far as the outer door, his hand reaching for it. 

"No, damn you Jim Ellison I will NOT LET YOU DO THIS!!!" 

Blair slammed into him, knocking him into the door, cutting his head. 

"You are so not going to leave me like this! You're not going to leave me ever again and I don't give a fuck who says what and I certainly don't give a fuck what you say about it you are not leaving me again, you hear me you are not leaving me again, you're just not going, Jim, please, don't please don't go, please, Jim, I don't want you to go, I know you have to but I don't want you to, please…" and the rest was lost in tears and defiant punches against his chest, heaving air into exhausted lungs and Jim could only hold him and contain him. 

"Okay, okay. I won't go. Just listen to me and calm down. It's okay. Believe me, it's okay." 

"No, it's not! You're just trying to get me calm so you can walk out. I know you, Jim Ellison, I'm your fucking Guide, I know what you're going to do and you can just forget it because I'm never leaving your side ever again and if you want me to you'll just have to kill me because I'm not going so you can just shut the fuck up, OKAY?" 

Jim kept his silence, his arms going further around Blair, holding him as he slowly calmed down. It was the very, very least he could do. 

How many hours ticked by, he had no idea, but it might have been days or months for all the difference it made to him. But soon, too soon, the man in his arms finally moved, taking his own weight, straightening up, pulling himself together. Blair took a moment to push the hair away from his face before bringing his gaze to meet Jim's. 

"We… um… we… need to talk, don't we?" 

"Do we?" Jim came away from his latest prop, the door, and brought ginger fingers to his temple, feeling the cut. 

"Oh, fuck, I'm sorry, Jim, let me take a look at that." Blair grabbed his arm and steered him to the bed, making him sit. He dashed into the bathroom and returned a minute later with a towel around his waist, a tiny first-aid kit in his hands. Jim sat there quietly, letting him treat the wound, clean it, sting it with something. 

"Doesn't look too bad. It's stopped bleeding already. Do you want something over it?" 

"Does it need it?" 

"Well, not unless you go bashing your head on a few more doors, no, I think it'll be fine." 

"Blair?" 

"Yes?" 

Blair sat down, hands busy again, putting the things back into the kit. Jim waited until that deep gaze reached his again. "We need to do more than talk." 

Nodding slowly, Blair tossed the kit onto the bedside table. "Okay. As long as the list doesn't include us going our separate ways, I'm willing to listen." 

"Why not?" 

"Why not what?" 

"Why not go our separate ways?" 

"Oh, and here I was thinking you'd planned to have an intelligent conversation." 

Jim settled a little, folding his arms across his chest and regarding the other man steadily, "Okay, what do you think we should talk about?" 

"Us." 

"Us?" 

"Yeah, us. You know that thing we've spent, let me see, um, about three years _not_ talking about? That Us." 

"Blair, there is no Us. Never was." 

Holding up a hand, the younger man stopped him. "And don't you dare add, there never will be an Us. If you do, I'll have to get the first-aid kit out again." 

Jim left the obvious joke about violence well alone. Instead, he continued, "In that case, there really isn't anything for us to talk about." 

Blair studied him, one of those rare moments when the kid was absolutely and completely still. The wet hair was tangled, dripping water onto bare shoulders. The mouth was reddened, a little bruised. Eyes of flinty blue absorbed every detail before him, giving nothing away. 

"We can't do this." 

"No." Jim shook his head. 

"No, I wasn't agreeing with you. I mean, we can't just let this happen any more." 

"Let what happen? From where I'm sitting, it's all done, in the past, over with, finished." Jim looked away, wanting more than anything to just get out of here, where those eyes couldn't look at him any more. He took in a breath, held it, holding down everything else he was feeling. "I raped you, Blair. There's nothing else we can say…" 

Jim was abruptly knocked back onto the bed as Blair launched himself across the space. Using tactics Jim recognized all too well, Blair soon had him pinned, pretty much unable to move. The face hovered over him, totally and absolutely uncompromising. "You listen to me, James Ellison and listen good. You are NOT leaving this room. You ARE staying. You ARE getting into bed because we both desperately need some SLEEP. You are NOT going to try leaving in the night because I WILL feel it and I WILL stop you." 

A part of Jim, some tiny shred of life left in him, wanted to laugh, wanted to delight in this aspect of the man, wanted very much to be able to. That small part, following its own rules, took control of his face and eked out a smile - but pale, thin and not entirely convinced. "Is that all?" 

Blair shook his head, deliberately brushing Jim's face with his hair, "No. You will NOT mention the word rape again tonight." 

That small part of Jim was instantly crushed, replaced by a whole-body reflex to escape. He twisted, pulled and shoved - but he didn't move at all. Blair really did have him pinned. He couldn't get free without hurting either himself or Blair. 

"Finished?" Blair had his own smile now, of satisfaction. "Now, I want your promise, Jim, solemn and all otherwise. You believe you raped me? Well, you can start working off the guilt by promising me to stay." 

"Blair…" Jim began through gritted teeth. 

"DO IT!" 

"Okay, okay, I promise! Jeez, Blair, give me a break here." 

"Oh? Where, exactly, would you like it?" The voice was sharp but the gaze had softened. 

Jim relaxed his muscles - knowing full well that Blair wouldn't be fooled by it. "Okay, I promise." 

Blair simply shook his head. "You're staying, Jim. You remember that. You're staying." Blair tried to drag him bodily up the bed, pulling at blankets and covers and reaching for the light switch all at the same time. "You're staying." 

Jim allowed himself to be pushed into bed. The robe stayed on at first but it was too damp so he shrugged out of it. Blair's towel seemed to have disappeared as well but when he realised how cold Blair's body was, he tucked the blankets around them both, not making any attempt to put space between them but wishing he could. 

Finally, in the darkness, they settled. Blair had positioned himself half-over Jim, head on his shoulder in an achingly familiar reminder of that first and only night. As the quiet drew out, Jim whispered, "Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"Why am I staying?" 

"Because we have to talk." 

"I thought we did." 

"We need to talk some more." 

"Now?" 

"No, in the morning." 

"So why am I staying?" 

"Because you're not leaving my sight until we have talked." 

"Oh." 

"And because I love you." 

"Oh, okay then. I guess I'm staying." 

"You bet you are, big guy. You bet you are." 

* * *

It wasn't as if he didn't know what was going to happen, because he did. But knowing both made it better - and worse. Better because at least this time, he was warned, could maybe stop the disaster in its tracks. Worse because he did know. He knew what Jim was going to do. Knew his chances of stopping it were slim. 

He was awake a long time before he felt the first warnings from Jim's body, the first restless signs that he was drifting towards awareness. He lay on his side, spooned up behind the bigger man, arm across him, cheek close enough to hear his heart beat. 

Little signs at first, a vague movement, less rhythm in the breathing, one and then another, larger breaths, eased out. Blair simply stayed where he was, keeping track of the slowly lightening sky, waiting for the first attempted gaol-break. 

Blessed Protector. 

Beloved Protector. 

Dying Protector. 

He felt it the moment it came, the sharp intake of air, the abrupt stiffening as muscles reacted to awake memory, recognizing the scent and feel of Blair behind him. Checking, seeking to discover whether Blair was awake or not. Then the movement. 

Blair lost contact with Jim as the older man rolled over to face him, slipped back until Blair couldn't touch him without making an effort. 

Yeah, he knew what was going to happen. So he reached out, reached in and found the things he was looking for, the bits and pieces he needed, tools, diamond drill-bits and velvet covered sledge-hammers. He had them all, neatly stacked and catalogued in a manner that would have pleased Jim under other circumstances. 

And like a craftsman, he set about to work. "You look better. Sleep okay?" 

"Better than what?" 

"Than you did last night." 

"Before I raped you? Or after?" 

Yep, going to need every trick in the trade this time. Maybe even invent a few new ones as well. "After. I don't even want to mention what you looked like before." 

That got him a rapid blink, another intake of breath. Jim wasn't yet up to jaw-clenching - but it wouldn't take long. "I'm hungry. Can we got down to breakfast?" 

"Nope. We'll order. They can bring it up. The menu's there, on your nightstand. I'll have Granola, yogurt and lots of coffee." 

Casting him a look that suggested he thought Blair had suddenly developed a loose screw, Jim pushed himself up in the bed until he could sit against the wall. He grabbed the menu, dialled the number and dropped the order in, in clipped tones, expressing more than he realised. 

Blair waited until he was finished and launched his second shot, aiming very carefully. "I didn't move in with Marc." 

The result was less than he was hoping for, but not entirely a waste. "No, I guess you didn't." 

It would have to do for the moment. There were practical things to organize before he played the next round. "You want to use the bathroom?" 

For a second, Jim said nothing, his gaze pointedly fixed on the opposite wall. Then he nodded. Without hesitation, Blair pulled the covers back and Jim got up. The bathroom door closed behind him with an attempted air of finality Blair could only smile at. 

But he was scared. Terrified. The only difference was, there was no physical evidence Jim would notice. Jim couldn't feel the way Blair's stomach had worked knots into itself, the way turning his head quickly would make him dizzy, the horrible mantra which repeated itself over and over in his head with words he didn't even want to think about let alone voice. 

He used the time well. He got up, pulled on clean clothes, jeans, tee and checked shirt, clothes he knew Jim would recognize. When he heard the shower go, he picked up the damp robe left lying on the floor and tossed it into the bathroom, closing the door after him before Jim had a chance to think about it. 

Then he collected up Jim's wet clothes and hung them over the back of a chair. Again he smiled. That was a freebie, that one. Tailor-made. 

Jim emerged enrobed from the bathroom almost the same time their breakfast arrived. Blair stood on guard by the door, taking charge of the trolley, signing for it and shutting the outside world out again afterwards. Jim had watched him for a moment then walked like a ghost over to the table where he took a seat. Blair brought the trolley over, transferred food until it was done, then set about appeasing his appetite. 

"Glad the trial's over. Didn't like that prosecutor at all." 

Jim poured coffee for both of them, his voice emerging cool and detatched, "He called me a faggot." 

Blair raised his eyebrows, "And his funeral is…?" 

"I didn't lay a finger on him." 

"Violence isn't the only thing that kills. Words can sometimes do it better." 

"The pen is mightier, Professor? Not in his case." 

"Oh, why not?" 

"He was stupid enough to think that merely calling me a faggot would induce me to violence. As though I would give a damn what he thought of me. I've been called worse, by people who are far more qualified." 

"So the scum still lives?" 

"In his eyes, yes." 

And Blair was content to leave at that for a while so they could both concentrate on their breakfast. 

* * *

"You weren't surprised when I told you I didn't move in with Marc." 

"No." 

A pause, "Did you look for me?" 

A long, long pause. "Yes." 

* * *

"Vegas is such a shitty place. Don't know how people can stand living here." 

"Den of iniquity, Jim?" 

"No, not that. It's the pointlessness of it." 

* * *

The coffee pot was almost empty when Blair filled his cup for the last time. It was typical hotel coffee and if he hadn't needed it so much, he would have kept a safe distance from it. As it was, he just took his cup and got to his feet, leaving the table for the window. His breakfast sat heavily on his churning stomach - but if he hadn't eaten, Jim would have noticed. 

"Why?" 

Blair frowned at the view. "Why what?" 

"Why didn't you move in with… Marc?" 

Blair's frown disappeared as he registered his first victory for the day. He managed to keep his smile small, out of his voice, so Jim wouldn't notice. "I didn't love him." 

"But he was… I mean, he seemed… nice, you know, good-looking, intelligent. And he loved you. That much was obvious. And you'd been seeing him for what, four months? I would have thought…" 

"I didn't love him, Jim." Blair turned slowly, keeping tight reign on his emotions. "And how do you know so much about him? I never said a word." 

Jim actually met his gaze - and that surprised Blair. "I saw you. The day you broke up with him. I spoke to him. He… he was angry." 

A slow smile crept across Blair's face at that - and he didn't bother trying to hide it. It felt great to be able to do it. "That's good, Jim. Really good." 

"That Marc was angry? With both of us?" 

"No." Blair finished his coffee and put the cup down. "Come on, time we were moving." 

Jim watched him as he strode across the room, putting his clothes into his pack, collecting his other belongings. "Moving where? Uh, Chief, I hate to say this, but I'm not exactly presentable, here." 

"No, you're not, are you? You wanna give me that robe?" 

"Why?" 

"Just give it to me and don't ask questions. Get back into bed if you're cold." 

Warily, Jim removed the robe and returned to bed. Blair almost felt sorry for him the way he pulled the blankets up to cover himself, body language speaking in volumes. 

Shaking his head, he rummaged through Jim's trouser pockets until he found the key. "You're on the 17th floor, right?" 

Suddenly Jim didn't look quite so defenceless, "Why? What are you going to do?" 

"Hey, man, it's cool. I'm just going to get you some clothes." 

"Yeah? So why are you taking the robe and your pack with you?" 

Blair paused by the door, grinning, "Why? Think I'm just going to run off and leave you here, naked? Remember what I said to you last night, Jim. You just keep thinking about that and I'll be back in twenty minutes." 

* * *

He was tempted to take twice that, just to give Jim a scare - but in the end, he did it much quicker. No point in making Jim so scared that he made some silly effort to get hotel management involved. Entirely unproductive. 

And, as he'd expected, Jim's stuff was very easy to pack. Everything was in nice ordered piles in dresser and wardrobe. Blair collected everything, packed it, closed the door behind him and headed back downstairs. When he opened his own door again, Jim was exactly where he'd left him. 

Of course, he'd been keeping track, hadn't he? 

"There you go, big guy. Now you get dressed and I'll find a plastic bag to put these wet clothes in." 

Shaking his head, Jim did as he was told, but he got to the wet clothes first, emptying the pockets before handing them over, before getting dressed. Once they were done, Blair stood before him, hands on hips, looking him up and down. "You're terribly cute, you know - but you'll do. Now, truck keys?" 

"Got them." 

"Hand them over." 

"What?" 

"Just do it." 

He did. 

"And your wallet? Credit cards? Everything. In my hand, now." 

Ah, first jaw clench for the day. "What for?" 

Blair looked up at him, meaning to remain firm - but he couldn't help himself. He moved closer, lifting his hand to Jim's face, smoothing the tension there. It didn't work very well. Jim almost turned to stone at the light caress. But Blair wasn't to be turned from his path. He pressed a brief kiss to Jim's lips and whispered, "It's okay, Jim. Trust me, will you? Just trust me." 

Jim just closed his eyes, resting his forehead on Blair's. "It's not you, Chief. It's not you I don't trust." 

"I know, love, I know. But it'll be okay. Just give me your stuff and we can get going." 

"Why?" 

"Because I'm not going to give you a chance to get away from me." 

"Chief…" A quiet protest, the first real attempt. 

"Just be glad you didn't bring your cuffs with you." 

And that brought a wry smile to Jim's face. "You wouldn't." 

"Come on, Jim, you know me." Blair turned for the door, handing Jim his bags while shoving the wallet and keys into his own pockets. 

"Yeah, exactly." 

The hotel lobby was quiet when they checked out. Just a few people milling around. Forms were signed, keys handed across - including the stolen one Blair had found on his bedroom floor. He didn't mention it to Jim. They had a lot of land to cover before he needed to cross that bridge. 

Then they were heading to the parking garage, loading the truck, pulling out onto the street. Blair let Jim drive largely because he didn't have much choice. Jim wouldn't do anything stupid with Blair in the truck - and at least the man would feel a bit more relaxed behind his own wheel. 

Pulling out the map he'd collected at the hotel desk, Blair began unfolding it, turning it until he had the right direction. "Okay, yep, right, got it. Take a left at the next lights and that will get us onto the interstate. Yeah, this one, here. Good. And then we turn off at…" 

"Chief?" 

"What?" 

"We need to stay on the interstate." 

"Why?" 

"Well…" 

"We're not going back to Cascade, if that's what you mean." 

"Where are we going, then?" 

"Just like you promised me, Jim." Blair sat back, the folded map on his lap and settled in for the long drive. "We're going to see the Grand Canyon." 

* * *

It was painful, so damned painful being around him. Catching the scent of him in the hot dry air passing through the truck, the warmth of his body, the graceful hands which traced a path on the map. So damned pushy, so damned determined. So very wonderful. 

Jim had never really had a chance to consider beauty before, not as a thing in itself. The word was so easily tossed around, like a used gum wrapper, not often landing where it should. There were so many sayings about beauty, being in the eye of the beholder, about it being a part of truth, about how the world would be a sadder place without it. 

He'd seen art and buildings, statues and gardens, mountains and seascapes all classed as beautiful. He'd used the word himself, speaking of women or of a classic basket. Used the word in irony, in sarcasm - had simply refused to use it for similar reasons. 

But beauty was nothing in and of itself. Rather, it was an expression used to describe the feeling something wonderful engendered in a person. An attempt to capture a moment, otherwise indescribable. 

So why did he think it every time he looked at Blair? Every time he thought about him? Didn't make much sense when there were so many other words that described him so well, words that didn't diminish the essence of character which shone from those deep blue eyes. 

And there was nothing wonderful in the pain he felt, being near him, being afraid for him. Nothing wonderful at all. But still he thought of Blair and beauty in the same breath. 

It wouldn't take much time, really, to do what he had to do. But first, he had to make Blair let him go. 

* * *

"Man, it's hot out here!" For the tenth time in the last hour, Blair tugged the band off his hair, smoothed it all back, then tied it up again. 

"There should still be some water left in the bottle. You have to keep drinking." 

"Yeah, yeah, I know, dehydration. But the water's hot now and I so don't like drinking hot water." 

"Well," Jim paused and Blair watched a shoulder rise, an attempt at nonchalance, "sprinkle some grass in it and maybe it'll taste like tea. You drink that hot, don't you?" 

Blair would have smiled - if only to mark Jim's attempt at humour, but there was something so studied in it, his insides did a sharp flip. Jim was just going along with all this, would go along with it until he wore Blair down. Then he would go. End of story. End of Jim. 

Sticking his elbow out the door window, he scratched his head, splicing his gaze between the open desert they were travelling across, and the beautiful man sitting next to him. The stubborn man sitting next to him. 

The land was so flat here, so empty of anything to break up the horizon. Long straight stretches of pock-marked road, an infinity of red crumbling dust that could have been a Martian landscape. Every now and then, a tuft of some poor weed would make it up through the ocre crust, squeezed between fist-sized rocks and freeze dried sand. How long would it take a man to walk across this on foot? Days? Weeks? Surely he'd die before then, with no water source around, no shelter, no shade, no sustenance. And his bones would dry out, turn and return to the dust which surrounded him, no mark left of where he'd fallen, no eyes to mark his passage. He would never have existed. 

But there was something so intense about it that drew Blair's gaze again and again, something that made him want to see it going on, unending. It was breathtaking in its own way; eternal. He liked that. 

The road had been pretty much empty all day. Only the occasional car passing them in either direction. To all intents and purposes, they were alone. Alone with themselves, alone with each other. Nothing like what he'd imagined when Jim had spoken about this trip, almost a year ago. 

Hard to remember the circumstances of that conversation, too. But he reminded himself; he had been in Jim's arms, had kissed him, had felt the love in each and every word spoken, had wanted it to go on forever. 

Had that been the mistake? Wanting it to go on? Or was it really buried in the unspoken decision to act on their feelings? If they'd actually talked about it, would they have avoided all this? But how could they have done that, eh? Stood there like a pair of fools and said I love you and then went on with their daily lives, precious bond between sentinel and guide untouched by the depth of their abandoned need? 

Nice new-age idea that - but totally impossible. There were times when words did more damage than anything else. No, if they'd done that, they wouldn't have lasted five minutes. As it was… 

They'd lasted about ten. Returning to Cascade hadn't been bad. They'd both still been pretty much under the influence of the night before, the afterglow of love still lingering between them, nice, gentle, visible. No, the rot had set in after that, in the days and weeks that had followed as they tried so hard to put it behind them. They'd been careful around each other, pushing nothing, making no assumptions, relying on nothing, taking nothing for granted. 

And still it had failed. 

And if they'd stayed together a year ago? Allowed themselves to become a couple? 

Blair frowned at the searing landscape, trying to sit still, trying to keep his agititation to himself. 

No. 

The question asked, returned an answer immediately. After three years of denying themselves, they would have attempted to drown in each other, making up for lost time, throwing all else out of the window. And loving each other like that would have distracted them even further from their special bond. In the end, the result would have been much the same. 

The bond had been broken - not with distrust and lies but with too much trust, too much truth. 

So maybe the solution, for once, wasn't in going over what had gone wrong. Maybe this once, Blair should concentrate on what he had before him, sort through that, make that function. 

But he couldn't do it alone. And Jim wasn't going to help. No, the big guy was going to hinder - as much as he possibly could. Guilt will do that to a man. Do that and more. Kill him, in fact. 

He'd wanted to wait until they got somewhere, some hotel maybe, some place where Jim could be relaxed and comfortable - but his guts were now twisting with a need for urgency, a desperate need to make Jim understand that this matter was not up for negotiation. So he tossed out all his carefully constructed plans - and played it by ear. And to do it, he was going to have to cross a line he thought he'd never have to go near again. 

"Jim?" 

"Yeah?" 

"What happened?" 

"When?" 

"With us?" 

"I thought you had all the answers." 

"Come on, Jim, I told you last night I didn't." 

"Well, don't expect me to give you them. I don't know any more than you do." 

"You have to know something." 

"Like what?" 

"Like what you think happened with us." 

"But I don't know what happened." 

Blair turned away, his voice dropping to inaudible levels, "Yeah, and if you did you wouldn't tell me, would you?" 

"What was that?" 

"You're the damned sentinel, Jim, you heard it well enough!" 

"So I have to have my hearing dialled up so far so I can hear you when you mumble? So any passing truck can deafen me? Way to go, Guide!" 

"They're your senses, Jim, don't go blaming me if you can't control them!" 

"That's right, they are my senses - but you taught me how to use them so if it doesn't work it _is_ your fault. What, want all the credit but none of the responsibility?" 

"I'm the only guide you've got - or are you planning on finding a replacement?" 

"I don't need a damned replacement, Sandburg, I need…" 

Blair turned and watched Jim clench his jaw, lift his chin and fix his gaze stonily on the road ahead. Sharpening his own anger, Blair snapped, "Absolution, Jim? Is that what you need?" 

"Go to hell!" 

"Not without you." 

* * *

"What do you want from me, Blair? Well? Do you want me to grovel?" 

"Yes!" 

"Okay, I'm grovelling!" 

"No, you're not. You're just shouting. Not the same thing." 

"I'm grovelling, Blair, I'm sitting here, begging you to just let me the fuck go!" 

"Never!" 

Jim hissed in a breath and slammed his fist onto the wheel. "For Christ's sake, Sandburg - you can't win this one! Stop trying! It doesn't work. It can't work. It'll never work. I raped you…" 

"Stop the truck!" 

"What?" 

"I said STOP THE TRUCK!!!" 

Jim slammed his foot on the brakes, controlling the slide over to the side of the road. With a bone-crunching jolt, the truck stopped - but Blair didn't give him a second to do or say anything. 

"Give me the keys and get out." 

Jim would have protested except that before he could, Blair had reached over and snatched the keys out of the ignition, was already pushing him out the suddenly open door. Blair jumped down, holding the keys in his hand, advancing on Jim with eyes so full of fury his own anger was blown away in the gale. 

The cloud of dust from their sudden stop gusted around them and drifted off and still Blair advanced until Jim's feet hit gravel and dirt. There Blair stopped, showed him the keys - then shoved them into the back pocket of his jeans. 

"Right? Okay? Get the message, Jim?" Blair snapped. "The only way you're getting back in the truck is if you get the keys - and the only way you'll get them is if you touch me. Those are the rules. Simple enough for you?" 

"Blair! Stop this right now." Jim was no longer afraid of shouting. The blank open desert around them couldn't be harmed by it. "This is stupid… damned…" 

"Well?" Blair ignored him and went on, again coming forward, making him step back. "Go on. You're not driving any more. There's the ground. Get down and grovel. Go on, do it. My boots are nice and dusty. You can lick them while you're there. That's your out, you know. Qualifies as touching me. So get down on your knees and grovel for forgiveness, Jim. You want it - you go ahead and do it. You do it, I'll let you go." 

"Sandburg, you gotta stop this now! This is crazy!" 

"Yeah, that's exactly what it is, Jim, love, sweetheart, love of my damned fucking life. Of course, it's crazy. Now get down of your fucking knees and grovel!" 

Blair was so angry his hands shook, his cheek twitched. Hair had come loose from the tie again and hung beside his face but he paid no heed. He just stood there, as immobile as time itself. 

Jim was having trouble breathing. And seeing. And standing. And still Blair didn't move. 

And then he did, one step forward. Another. Still reeking black fury. 

"You can't do it, can you? You can't ask for what you think you need, can you? And why not? Because you know forgiveness has nothing to do with it. Because you think you raped me and I keep telling you, you didn't." 

"I DID rape you!" 

"Then grovel!" Blair advanced another step, menacing, his voice hard and clipped, shocking. "But you won't do it. You can't do it. Because you know as well as I do that you never raped me. You didn't hit me, you didn't force me, you didn't hurt me. You. Didn't. Rape. Me." 

Tears of anger spilled out of Blair's eyes then, trailed down his cheeks. He took in a huge breath, steadying his ire, holding it firm, making Jim shudder. Blair's voice dropped to a whisper only a sentinel would hear. "I wanted you, Jim. I wanted you so bad, I made you finish it. If there was any crime committed last night, then we're equally guilty, equally to blame. You wanted to get out of there, before you could hurt me more - but I used your body's responses to stop you, to make you stay, because I needed it too, Jim. I needed you there. I wanted you there." 

And then he was very close, so close Jim didn't need to be a sentinel to hear the whisper, the heartbeat, feel the heat coming from his body. "The only thing you did was take me without asking - but if you had asked, I would have said yes." 

Jim couldn't get air around the concrete in his chest. He gulped, pushed and it did no good. "God," he rasped. "I'm so sorry, Blair, so sorry…" 

"I know you are, love, I know you are. So am I. I should never have started seeing Marc, never have stayed with him, never have left you alone to deal with it on your own." 

"No…" 

"I should never have run away." 

"I… I…" 

"Breathe, Jim, breathe." Guide voice. Warm, real. An anchor. "That's it, breathe. It's okay." 

And in that tone, Jim found something he couldn't name, didn't stop to try. Instead, he just reached out and wrapped his arms around the man, held him close, felt him hard and solid, breathing, alive, hurt only inside. 

For long, long minutes there were no words spoken, none needed. There was just the closeness, the need. Blair held onto him as though he would never let go. And he wouldn't. Jim knew that now. Blair would never let him go. 

It wasn't enough. 

But maybe, it was enough to start with. For the moment. For today. 

Jim began to feel the heat in the sun bearing down on them, reflecting up from the desert floor. Blair slowly lifted his head, his eyes dry now, regret and sorrow mixed in with the pain. He said nothing for a moment, then shifted slightly until he could take out keys and wallet. He took Jim's hand and placed them inside. 

"It's up to you, Jim. It's your choice." 

* * *

An old-fashioned bell tinkled as Blair pushed the shop door open. It was darker in here, even though the day's light was fading outside. Strong smells came to him of oiled leather and canvas, dust and paraffin. As he wandered forward, his gaze took in walls covered in layers of equipment, windbreakers and lamps, ladders and ropes. A rack to his right was stacked with hiking boots, a pile of ex-army fatigues neat and green behind it. 

"Evening," a balding man behind the counter nodded in his direction. 

"Evening," Blair replied with something of a smile. "How long 'till you close?" 

"Whenever you're ready. Take your time." 

"Thanks." Blair wandered along the first row, not entirely sure that he wanted to buy anything - even though it was possible he would need it. Something else had drawn him in here, perhaps the comfortable and familiar window display. The comfortable and familiar were a balm to him right now. 

"Did you bring anything warm with you?" 

Startled, Blair looked up to find Jim watching him, standing with his hands full of bits and pieces, an air of unreality about him. 

"It's just that, it gets pretty cold out here at night. You won't want to freeze." 

"Uh, no." 

Jim cocked his head to the back of the store. "They've got a pretty good range of army surplus sweaters behind the water pump display." 

For a second, Blair couldn't move. Then sense kicked in and he replied, "Good idea. Thanks." Jim stepped aside as he went by then disappeared again. 

Blair found the sweaters, running through stacks and holding a few up against him for size. He didn't realize he was shaking his head in bemusement until he caught sight of himself in a mirror on the wall. 

Something had drawn him in here? Jim, perhaps? And how had he known Jim was here? They'd pulled into the small town, exchanging short words on finding a guesthouse for the night and getting a map of the Canyon for the next day, going in separate directions, not paying attention. Just doing the stuff that needed to be done. 

Blair had found a guesthouse and seeing Jim wasn't back at the truck yet, he'd wandered across the road and into this shop. 

Where Jim was. 

Somewhat annoyed with himself, he grabbed a sweater almost at random and began pulling it on. He got his earring caught on the collar and suddenly there were sure hands on him, unhooking it, easing it down, smoothing it over his shoulders. He looked up into the mirror to find Jim standing behind him, his hands where they rested. 

"A bit big, but you like the loose stuff so it should do you." 

"Yeah," Blair breathed, unwilling to move, unwilling to give Jim an excuse to take his hands away. 

"Did I ever tell you…" 

Blair swallowed, treading carefully. There was something achingly fragile about Jim and he didn't know what to do about it. "Tell me what?" 

Jim's eyes held his in the mirror, softening a little, showing something. "Always liked that I could… touch you… like this." 

Blair managed a smile, one that didn't display too much relief, "Yeah, Jim, me too." 

Those hands stayed there a moment longer before Jim took a step back. "Come on, let's let the man close up. I need some food. Did you find a place for the night?" 

"Yes, I did." Blair pulled the sweater off and followed Jim back to the counter. The man charged it all up and Jim put a card down before Blair could. One cool blue glance was enough to silence any protest he might have made. 

One step at a time, Sandburg. One step at a time. 

The sky was gold and blue by the time they got back to the truck. Blair directed Jim around a couple of corners until they stopped before an older-style house with a 'Rooms for Rent' sign up. 

"No hotel, Chief?" 

"Thought this place looked nicer. And they've got space. They're holding a twin room for us, facing north. They'll do breakfast for us too, if we want." 

"We won't. Best time to see the Canyon is at sunrise. Maybe they'll pack something we can take with us." 

Collecting bags, they moved inside, immediately greeted by a woman in her fifties, long grey hair in a soft braid down her back. She smiled at them, showing them upstairs to a room that had nothing cheap or commercial about it. It felt like the woman's own home - which was what had drawn Blair to it in the first place. That, and the beautiful bay window which looked out on an open expanse of stubby desert brush - and then open flat land. Somewhere out there he knew, was the Grand Canyon, one of the wonders of the natural world. 

He stood at the window, watching the last of the light fade, listening to Jim charm the woman, organize some sandwiches for the morning. Then the door was closed behind her and Blair sensed rather than felt Jim come to stand behind him again. 

His skin prickled with the knowledge, his heart giving an unscheduled thump before settling down. 

"You are amazing, you know that, Chief?" The voice was soft, almost hesitant. 

"Am I?" 

There was no answer but Blair didn't move or turn around as he wanted to. There was no touch on his shoulders this time and he wished there were. There was just the consuming presence of Jim behind him. 

"How about we clean up and look about finding somewhere eat? Our hostess said there's hot water for a bath and recommended a good steakhouse." 

"Okay." Blair nodded. 

The moment held a little longer, then Jim broke it, turning away and opening his bag. He took the first turn in the bathroom, leaving Blair to sit on a bed, studying the room, trying not to think. Absently, he took out clean clothes, shaving gear, things he would need. It had been a long day and he was tired. The bed felt pretty comfortable, lots of blankets, a hand-knitted comforter helping the homey atmosphere along. 

The two beds sat side by side in the small room, a night-table and lamp standing between them. Blair had given no thought to the question. It had to be twin beds, this night, in a place like this. Didn't matter that all he really wanted - no, needed - was to sleep with Jim's arms around him. Didn't matter at all. 

He got his turn in the bath, noting ruefully that there wasn't much in the way of hot water left - but then again, this was a desert and all water was in short supply, hot or otherwise. He managed to get himself clean with what he had, washing the dust out of his hair, rubbing it dry with a towel, hoping he'd get a comb through it later. 

Jim was dressed when he got back to the room. At Blair's look of surprise, he glanced down at his dark grey jacket and black trousers. He looked unbearably gorgeous. "Chief, I came to Vegas to spend time in court. I don't have much else to change into." 

"I didn't say anything, Jim, honest." 

To his delight, Jim tossed him half a grin, "Hurry up, Chief. I'm hungry. I'll meet you downstairs." 

Alone again, Blair re-attacked his pack and pulled out a shirt he'd planned to wear in court, the pale grey jacket he tried to keep nice for such occasions. He dressed quickly, spending more time on getting the damned comb through his hair than anything else. Should probably cut it one day. Sometimes it was more trouble than it was worth. 

Finally, he finished and headed downstairs where he found Jim deep in conversation about the Canyon, the best place to go for sunrise, the best day trails to take, how much water they'd need to carry. 

As he approached, Jim turned with a smile, making Blair stop in his tracks. It was a smile. A real one. The first one he'd seen in… he couldn't remember how long. 

"What's wrong, Chief? You ready?" 

"Uh, sure, Jim." Blair swallowed noisily, hiding his reaction. "Let's go." 

The steakhouse was within walking distance and Blair was glad he'd worn the jacket; it was cold. He was glad to get inside the confines of the building, again old-fashioned in shape if not in texture. Formica tables warred with wood panelling - but there was a fireplace in one wall and his body automatically took him in that direction. The place was almost empty. 

"Table for two?" A man somewhere near seventy, wearing an apron around his waist, indicated a table by the fire, pulled out a pen and pad and took their orders. No menu, just what was available. 

They sat, ordering beers and steaks and Blair was proud of the way he didn't mention anything about fat content and trimming and no fries thanks. The beers came quickly and he let his gaze wander to the fireplace, that being the safest place for the moment. 

"You want to talk?" Jim settled in his seat, leaning his elbows on the table, his hand around his beer. 

"Do you?" Blair asked, risking a glance. 

"I asked first." 

The smile was across Blair's face before he could stop it - answered with half a one of Jim's. "I'd rather talk than sit here saying nothing. We'd look a bit silly." 

"True. So let's talk." 

"You're volunteering?" 

"I have been known to have the odd conversation in my life, you know, Chief. So, what would you like to talk about?" 

"Me? I get to pick the topic?" 

Jim shrugged, shifting granite. "You have more experience than I do." 

"Yes, but you have been known to have the odd conversation in your life, you know, Jim." 

That earned him the other half of the smile and Blair was content. So, okay, it was safe to look somewhere else other than the fireplace. So he looked at Jim. Didn't stare - just looked. 

The fire sat to Blair's right, a little behind Jim. Flames danced across a dozen chunky logs, more a glow rather than flickering flames. Though there were candles on some tables, they didn't have one on theirs. The only other lights in the room were cloth-covered lamps jutting out from the walls. 

A few more people entered, taking up tables, conversing quietly. 

Jim was watching him, blue eyes unreadable, planed jaw relaxed, brow clear of tension. "So? Your choice Mr Sandburg?" 

The fragility was still there - but it wasn't quite so… fragile any more. Blair almost laughed at the silly thought but stopped himself by answering the question. "Something safe?" 

"Is there anything safe?" 

"We could define dangerous first." 

"We could - but that could be dangerous in itself." 

"Or we could define safe and go on from there." 

"Are you willing to take that risk?" 

"Are you?" 

"But what's safe for you might not be safe for me." 

"And what's dangerous for you might not be dangerous for me." 

"How much did you tell Marc about me?" 

Blair's jaw dropped - and he shut it abruptly with a snap. Then he found somewhere else to look, picking at the edge of his placemat. "Well, I guess that pretty much defines what's safe and what isn't." 

"So, what is it? Safe or not? To ask about Marc?" 

Shrugging, Blair looked up again, "I guess it's safe - if you're ready to ask the question." 

"And?" 

"Not a lot. He sort of guessed there was somebody and eventually I admitted that I worked with you. He knew you were a cop, that we shared the loft, that we weren't together, weren't going to be." 

Jim listened to this without blinking. Eventually he nodded, "Did you tell him you loved me?" 

"No." Blair shrugged again, not entirely sure now this was such a safe topic after all. "I don't think he ever needed to hear me say it. To be honest, I tried to keep you out of the relationship." 

"Why?" 

"Well…" Blair's gaze was caught by movement across the room and he used it to put tangled thoughts into come semblance of order. "I guess I was trying to get over you. Trying to find something else to focus on. Hoped it would stop me obsessing." 

"How well did it work?" 

"Well, it did and it didn't. I mean, when I was with him, it did work, pretty much. At least, I can honestly say, I tried very hard to make sure it did work. Maybe I tried too hard because I think he noticed. He would bring you up in conversation now and then, perhaps trying to get me to admit something." Blair sighed, putting his elbows on the table and resting his chin on them. "I was so unfair to him, you know? Yeah, there were days when I thought it would work, if I could keep it going for long enough. Thought that maybe if I just kept trying then maybe I would fall in love with him." 

Jim took a moment to sip his beer. When the glass landed softly on the coaster, he kept his gaze down. "Do you think that, without me in the picture, you might have?" 

"That's not why I broke up with him, Jim, honest, it isn't." 

Jim met his gaze, losing all sense of fragility. His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "So you can't answer the question? Or won't?" 

Blair frowned, shaking his head slightly, "I can't answer it, Jim. I don't have an answer. I can't just wipe nearly four years from my life, from the person I've become and just put Marc into the frame. God, four years ago, I'd never even touched a guy, remember? Looked \- nothing else. You were the… first, best reason I had to want to go further. I can't tell you that if Marc had come along, it would have been him because for all I know, four years ago, I might have been too terrified to even think about it. Hell, four years ago, I _was_ too terrified to think about it." 

A short frown furrowed between Jim's eyes a moment, then faded as their meals were brought to the table. He sat back, waiting for the old man to finish, then put his napkin on his lap, picking up knife and fork. "Eat, Chief. You've got so thin you scare me." 

Just like that. Off-hand, as though what they'd been talking about really was safe. It wasn't much, but it was enough for Blair to settle again and eat his food. The steak was good, the vegetables even better. Fresh beers arrived as they ate in silence. Jim volunteered nothing and Blair wanted to let his mind establish some kind of balance before they took it up again. 

Their ravaged plates were collected by the old guy and they were again left to themselves. Blair picked at a piece of French bread, trying to find a way to ask what he needed to know. Eventually, he just came out with it. "Why didn't you tell me you didn't want me to see Marc?" 

"I couldn't do that." 

"Yeah, but why not?" 

Jim leaned back in his seat, his hand again idly playing with his beer glass. The restaurant was about half-full now, lending the conversation a little more privacy. For the first time in his life, Blair was glad there was little likelihood of another sentinel in the room. 

One was enough. 

"You were trying to get on with your life, Chief. I had to respect that. Even if it took you away from me." 

Blair couldn't take his eyes from Jim then, meeting without fear, the sorrow he saw in pale blue. "I would have, you know? Stopped seeing him." 

"I know. That's why I didn't say anything." Jim leaned forward, his eyes on his glass, a dry half-laugh breaking the quiet. "It's funny, the nights I spent rehearsing what I would say to you, if I could. The lists I made of all the reasons why it was such a bad idea for you to see this guy I knew nothing about. One day I would imagine he was this perfect Adonis, the next, some sleazy scum who would treat you like dirt. I kept hoping something terrible would happen between you and that you would come home one night, even in tears, to tell me you'd dumped him because he was a bastard. Then I'd have a perfect excuse to hold you, soothe you, make you feel better, be the friend I used to be. And," he paused, taking a breath, not lifting his gaze once, "other nights I'd listen to you come home, drift from bathroom to bed, sometimes humming and I couldn't help hoping this Marc guy _wasn't_ a bastard because you didn't deserve that. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Didn't have the right. For all I knew, you had fallen for him and the last thing I wanted was to mess up some chance you might have." 

Finally, Jim paused to take a mouthful of beer, his gaze drifting over Blair before firming up, taking shape. "But you never stayed the night with him. Not until…" 

"No. I… he kept asking me to but…" 

Jim put his glass down, holding Blair where he was. His eyes glinted fathomless silver in the firelight, "Why didn't you?" 

"All I could think of was that if I did..." Blair was trapped, a voluntary prisoner. "I kept panicking thinking that if I did stay with him, even just one night then... it would really be over." 

"Between you and me?" 

"Yeah." Blair let out a breath, suddenly afraid now that he'd said it, afraid that admitting such a thing had brought something cruel into the night. "I was afraid of leaving you." 

Jim watched him for a moment then nodded, his gaze going down to his hands again, his shoulders lifting a little. "I guess you were right, then." 

Blair heard the words, among the noises in the room, among other voices, among the silence of his own mind. But Jim wasn't just talking about tonight, or Marc or anything so painfully recent. He was talking about before, in Vegas, almost a year ago. 

A year ago when it had ended. 

And he heard the sorrow, the gentleness of it breaking his heart. Unconsciously, he shifted in his seat, wishing to be anywhere but where he was, with the knowledge, the past, sitting there a permanent reminder of all that had gone wrong and all that had gone right. 

He couldn't look at Jim, couldn't lift his eyes, couldn't lift anything any more. 

But then Jim touched his hand, a soft, small movement, invisible to anyone else in the room. "Hey, Chief? You wanna get out of here?" 

Blair was already on his feet. "Please." 

The night air caressed Blair's face like a cool dry cloth, easing the heat grown in desperation, in an ache for what he could never have. He shivered and pushed his hands into his pockets. 

"Should have brought that sweater. I told you it was cold here." 

Blair shrugged, glancing up at him, trying to pretend there was something to smile about. "Yeah, but I was hardly going to wear it with you all decked out like that, was I?" 

"Why not?" Jim laughed, pushing his shoulder into Blair's playfully. "Never stopped you before." 

The touch electrified one side of Blair's body and it was all he could do not to latch onto it. "Ah, but before we were home. Now we're…" 

"What? Out with the 'quality'?" 

So at least they could joke a little again. That was good. So good. And the touch, the friendly affection they'd always shared, almost from the first - that seemed okay, too. Perhaps things might not be so bad, then, if there were these small steps they could take. It was certainly better than they'd had before. 

They walked side by side along the street, taking their time, in no hurry. More than a few times, their shoulders collided the same way, each one making Blair long for the next, hoping it would come, afraid it would be the last. 

Blair didn't really pay attention to where they were going and after a few minutes, looked around to find they weren't anywhere near the guesthouse. It seemed Jim was either lost (for a sentinel, virtually impossible) or he was happy just to walk for a while, taking one quiet street after another. 

Blair felt no urge to stop him, felt every urge to encourage him. Jim was the kind of man for whom working off physical energy was a necessary thing. Maybe it would help him relax, help him sleep better. 

"Chief?" 

"Yeah?" 

Blair waited for the question, but it didn't come. Instead, Jim kept his silence, seeming to consider carefully, without voicing anything. They'd taken themselves to the edge of town now, where the street lamps drew further apart until the last one didn't work at all. 

So did Jim. 

"Chief?" 

"Still here, Jim." 

"Yeah, I know." Jim stood slightly in front of him, his gaze appearing to follow the road into inky blackness. There were stars out but no moon as yet, though when it did appear, it would be awesome. "I want to ask you something but I don't want you to get all mad at me, okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Oh, no, that was far too easy. Think about it before you say that." 

"Um, okay, Jim, I've thought about it and yeah, I won't be angry." 

There was just enough light from the lamps behind Blair for him to see the glance Jim gave him over his shoulder. "Well…" 

"Jesus, Jim, you are so not doing this, man. I'm freezing to death and you can't…" 

Jim grinned, "I'd give you my jacket but I know you won't take it - so stop complaining." 

Blair shut up. Instead, he simply watched the sentinel as the grin faded, as Jim turned to face him properly. 

"Blair… what happened?" He swallowed, again trying hard to form words, "With us? Not Marc and all that other shit - but us? Why did it go like that? Was it really just because we finally couldn't keep our hands off each other - or was it something else?" 

The very same questions Blair had been asking himself that morning - and that morning, he'd come up with no answers. But now? 

Jim was waiting for his answer, waiting for Blair to give him those answers… needing to make sense of it… needing Blair to make sense of it… 

The moment caught him speechless. Something of his awe must have shown in his eyes because suddenly it was mirrored in Jim's. The bigger man took a step forward, head tilting to one side, a vague frown on his face and something that might have been a smile in his eyes. 

Blair trembled when the hand came up to touch the side of his face and he leaned into it without giving it a thought. For long, silent seconds, they stood like that before Jim came closer, taking Blair's face between both hands, sinking his fingers into his hair. Unwillingly, Blair's feet moved back only a few inches and suddenly he was up against a dead light pole, unable to escape, no desire to. 

"Say yes, Blair." 

"To what?" Little more than a shaking whisper, so overwhelmed was he by the sheer overwhelming presence before him, touching him again. 

"I want to kiss you." 

Blair closed his eyes, "Yes." 

Jim tilted his head a little and then wasted no more time. He touched his lips to Blair's with an aching sweetness that made Blair moan, made his arms come up, made his heart lift at last. 

"I love you." Jim's breath crept along his cheek, burning a path inside him. His body gave an involuntary shudder, heat and cold conflicting inside him, a conjunction of absolute needs. 

And then Blair was looking into those eyes again, seeing so much more than an hour ago. Hesitantly, he smiled a little, "Can we go?" 

Jim frowned instantly, "Why… you didn't…" 

"Jim, man, I am so freezing my ass off here, can we please go before other parts of me turn into those horrible little brass things?" 

And just like that, Jim threw his head back and laughed. He held Blair to him and it was so good to feel that laughter so close up. Blair was grinning like a complete idiot when Jim finally let him go. They began walking up the street again, but this time, Jim's hand linked two fingers with Blair's, invisible in the shadows. 

Feeling warmer by the minute, Blair was nevertheless relieved when they finally reached their door. They entered and headed upstairs, calling out a goodnight to their hostess. 

Once inside their room, Blair reached out to turn a light on - but his hand was caught, he was turned around and kissed again, deeply this time, deliberately and this time, time flew on, timeless, endless and seamless. 

He was shaking like a new leaf on a windy day by the time Jim finally let him breathe. 

"God, Chief, you really are freezing. Come on, let's get you warm. Take that jacket off for a start." 

Jim left him and grabbed the new sweater, rolling it up before sticking it over Blair's head, holding the sleeves so he could push his arms into it. Then he was enfolded in that strong presence again and he didn't have the heart to tell Jim that it wasn't cold that made him tremble. In fact, it was the exact opposite. 

"You have this thing about you," Jim murmured, moving his arms, trying to get Blair warm, "and I wish I knew what it was. All I know is, it's not a physical thing. It's a Blair thing. And it's so graceful and fine and strong, I feel such an ungainly lump standing near you. But it shines from you, from your eyes and every time I see it, I become more addicted to it, want more of it." 

Touched to his soul, Blair found no words to say. 

"In the space of a few short hours, I find that I've fallen in love with you all over again. How is that possible, Chief? Is it because I can see that thing?" Jim whispered into his ear. "I love you so much, Blair. But I'm so scared. Scared you'll always be afraid of me. Scared you'll have reason. I can't do that again, can't take that risk." 

"You can," Blair managed. Not wanting this to be the end. Needing it to be the opposite. But once again, he couldn't do it alone. Couldn't find the path back alone. 

"But I want you too much. Had to live without you for so long." 

Blair shifted a little, until he could see something of Jim's face in the pale light coming through the window. Starlight, his memory reminded him. Yeah, starlight. "And I've had to live without you." He paused, swallowing, gathering his courage, "Let's make love?" 

"Blair… I…" 

"Please, Jim, I need it as much as you do. I need you to feel how much I trust you. I need…" He paused again, forcing his hands to remain still though the desire to touch this incredible man was almost overpowering. "I need to feel you inside me. Please, make love to me." 

Jim shook his head slightly, fragile again, frowning, unsure, "You trust me that much?" 

"Yes, Jim, I do." And Blair tried to put all the love and certainty he felt into those few words. But it was no effort. His answer was as honest as they came. He meant it. 

Then Jim's lips were on his again, hard, deep, opening to him, wanting him. The rasp of his tongue ignited Blair, making him drink all he could. 

Dizzy with desire and terrible need, he hardly noticed when Jim pushed him back towards the bed, missed the moment entirely when they finally lay down together, paid no attention to the creaking bedsprings until… 

"Jim, stop." 

"What?" Jim lifted his head, a frown on his face. 

"You heard that, didn't you?" 

"No. What?" 

"Oh, man!" Blair laughed, disbelieving and loving it for what it was. "You didn't hear that? Man that is way cool! This bed! We can't do anything on this. That nice lady is going to know exactly what we're doing up here! I just… can't do it, Jim!" 

He didn't need external lights to see the smile on Jim's face. "Okay, we won't. Or rather, we won't use the bed. Come on, get up. This will only take a minute." 

And Blair had to stand by and watch the big man pull the rug across the floor until it lay across the base of the window - the only space available that would fit both of them together. Then Jim pulled all the blankets and pillows from both beds, even extracted extra pillows from the closet. He worked quickly and neatly, until there was this wonderful bed on the floor, made for the two of them. 

When he was done, breathing a little heavily, Jim glanced at him, a shy smile in his eyes, "I hate to say this, Chief, but I sort of wondered why you'd asked for a twin room. I'm afraid I didn't give our hostess a moment's thought." 

"Actually, I was more worried that you might assume that I would…" 

"But you do, don't you?" 

"Yeah - but I didn't want you to assume that I was assuming that…" 

Jim grabbed his hand and hauled him down onto the bed until he was lying the full length of the big man, hands carding through his hair, trapped once more and as free as he'd ever been, ever wanted to be. 

"Did I ever tell you how much I love this hair?" Jim murmured, suddenly solemn. "It's such a part of who you are. You weren't thinking of cutting it, were you?" 

"How did you know…" Blair had to laugh. "Doesn't matter. No, Jim, I won't cut it." 

"Good. One more thing?" 

"What?" 

"I really don't think I should…" 

"Yes," Blair held that beloved face between his hands, silencing the man with one word. "Don't you dare make this about retribution, Jim, I won't have it." 

Jim stared at him a moment, then his face softened, "Okay, love, okay. But I am scared, alright?" 

Blair kissed those lips for a moment before replying, "That's okay, Jim. You're allowed to be scared. Just remember that I'm not." 

* * *

What had started out as a cold night, soon turned into one of blazing heat for Blair as Jim's hands slowly removed clothing, kissing and caressing and lighting tiny fires from one end of Blair's body to the other. He tried hard, so hard to quieten his noises, but it was almost impossible. Having Jim make love to him was an element of exquisite torture, his body a thing craved, his light the only one in the darkness. 

Soon he was naked and shivering, barely able to wait until Jim undressed before him, watching him do it, knowing he was being watched. The heavy evidence of Jim's arousal drew Blair's hands, drew Jim down onto the bed beneath him, made him subject to Blair's desire, made him shift and stifle moans of his own. 

Slowly, so slowly, Blair felt his way down Jim's body, using only his chest to touch Jim, leaving his hands for other things. When he took that shaft between them, simply holding it, Jim almost twisted out of his grasp. He froze in that form for a moment longer - then suddenly sat up, grabbing Blair, kissing him hard, showing him with every heartbeat that this was passion, not violence, love not hatred. 

But Blair already knew that. He'd known it all along. 

Desperately needing air, Blair broke away, trying to reach his washbag without letting go of Jim. But Jim followed him, biting and sucking the flesh at his neck, making the urgency grow and grow, making Blair's warmth glow. His hand finally found what it was blindly looking for and then he pushed Jim back down, straddling him. He took Jim's hand and opened the tube, putting lube on two fingers. Their cocks nudged each other, making them both press to one another, needing that kiss, that meeting after so long. Then Jim's hand moved down, to prepare Blair, so gently, so lovingly that Blair could only smile and reflect it back. 

But the feel of Jim's fingers inside him made him hiss and press down, taking more, needing more, needing Jim. He knew it had to be slow but he couldn't wait, didn't want to wait, needed Jim now! 

He slid off Jim's body and lay down, pulling Jim over onto him, kissing him, taking that mouth, the mouth that was offered, tongues meeting too, duelling, sucking and thrusting. 

"Please, Jim…" 

"Yes, baby, yes…" 

And Jim pushed his legs apart, wide, up, shoving a pillow beneath his hips, his mouth never leaving Blair's. Soft nips of teeth on kiss-swollen lips and Jim's hand moved down and down where Blair needed it, down to where he could grasp himself, guide himself into Blair. 

The first moment of penetration, Blair caught his breath - and didn't let it go until Jim was fully sheathed in his body. 

Once there, Jim stopped, lifting his lips from Blair's, holding himself above, only his eyes keeping contact. The gaze was open, unwary, surprised and very heated. 

Blair felt a tremor run the entire length of his body, felt it impact on Jim's. Holding that gaze, he gently ran his hands up Jim's arms, allowing the pressure of his touch to increase. He had to hold on. To something. To Jim. 

There were questions in those eyes, questions and thoughts and discoveries - and answers. Blair could see them all, one after another, centred in a bed of searing coals, hiding absolutely nothing at all. Raw and plain and breathtakingly beautiful. 

Jim began to move. Blair moved with him, the timing unforced, a force within itself, shifting, growing into a driving rhythm, silent but for the sounds of their laboured breathing. 

Blair wanted to close his eyes, to simply feel the presence of Jim inside him, but that gaze held him; a gift, free. 

And the coals ignited, burning free, flaming through Jim's body and deep into Blair's, one fire. No more. Just one. 

Blair began to whimper, digging his fingers into the muscles on Jim's arms, feeling the sweat-sheened skin, absorbing it, absorbing Jim. Still Jim never took his gaze away, never faltered in the tempo they'd set. Driving onwards, driving them both, driving them towards the same goal, down the same path. 

He felt it happen, the moment, felt it within Jim's body, within his own, the coalescing of something so deep he had no words for it. Nor had he the power to slow it, to stop it. 

Jim's mouth crushed his, completing the circle and stifling the cry they both made as the explosion hit them, again and again, sharp, painful, ragged, hot and real. 

It was barely over before Jim was holding him close, shuddering, saying nothing but allowing his body to speak for him. 

And Blair did close his eyes then, closed out the tears he knew he might shed. Because it was over. 

At last. 

* * *

Jim allowed his sense of touch to wake him, leaving his eyes closed, knowing he would only see darkness. The scent in the air spoke of a night growing late, a morning ready and prepared. 

His body was warm where he lay, and comfortable. His ears picked up tiny sounds throughout the house, inconsequential, grounding him. 

If the last year had felt like a nightmare, then last night had been the reality which had brought it to an end. 

His lips touched tender, cool flesh. A shoulder. Barely moving, he felt the smooth skin, each rippled indentation, the fine hairs, the pale salty taste. 

His guide. 

His love. 

His Blair. 

Almost one whole side of his body touched some part of Blair's. Lying spooned up behind him, his left arm around the man's chest, hand caught in Blair's, fingers entwined. 

They'd slept that way. For hours. 

Grinning like an idiot, Jim allowed the caress of his mouth to become a kiss, moving slowly up the shoulder until scented hair distracted him for a moment. 

Blair shifted. "Mmmn. 'S'nice. Don't stop." 

Jim continued his exploration, breathing in, checking everything against a memory no longer painful. "Thought you were still asleep." 

"Was. Nice way to wake up." 

"You want to go back to sleep? The Canyon will still be there tomorrow." 

"No. I can sleep later. How much time have we got?" 

"It's a half hour drive to the sunrise spot. I'd guess maybe an hour or so?" 

He felt a sigh shift Blair's shoulders. "Oh. I was kinda hoping to do this for a bit longer, you know? Then maybe a shower to clean up?" 

"Like I said, we can always go tomorrow. I mean, we don't have to see it at sunrise the first time." 

Blair let go his hand a moment and rolled over, leaving a light kiss on Jim's cheek. "No, let's go today, okay?" 

"Okay - but that means we'll have to get up." 

He heard a wicked chuckle, "But I thought we were going…" 

Jim stifled further words with a deep, resounding kiss. With Blair's laughter still in his ears, he hauled his lover up, pulled back blankets until they were standing. "Come on, Chief, you're an ace at getting ready quickly. Go." 

With a playful swat at his rear, he sent Blair scurrying for clothes and into the bathroom. Jim spent the time pulling their bed to pieces, putting the blankets and pillows back where they came from. In the dark he could see quite clearly - but still the morning had an air of unreality to it, as though the moment the sun rose, this wouldn't have happened. Any of it. 

Blair exploded back into the room, dressed, shaved, in record time, leaving Jim the few minutes he needed. Finished with the bathroom, he found Blair rugged up, grin in place, ready to go. 

Shaking his head, Jim turned and headed downstairs, keeping his footsteps as quiet as possible, Blair following behind. They reached the front door - and found a light switched on behind them. He turned to find their hostess, robe wrapped around her against the cold, approach them with two plastic lunch boxes. 

"I'm sorry, did we wake you?" Blair began immediately. 

The woman shook her head, smiling. "No, I'm an early riser. Here's your breakfast. I hope you enjoy the sunrise. The Canyon is more than worth the early morning." 

"I'm sure it is," Blair smiled, taking the food. "Thanks. I think we're gonna need this." 

"Enjoy yourselves." 

Jim nodded and turned for the door - but the woman made him pause. "By the way, I do have a lovely double room empty, on the other side of the landing. If you like, I can move your things across while you're out for the day." 

Without pausing, Jim's gaze instantly flew to Blair's - whose eyes were wide open, an apology already forming. 

"I'm sorry… we… oh shit…" 

To prevent any further damage, Jim clapped a hand over Blair's mouth and turned with the closest thing to a smile as he could manage under the circumstances. "Yes, we are very sorry indeed. We didn't mean…" 

But the woman held up her hand, "I'm a Christian, Mr Ellison. Christ loved all god's creatures, not a selected few. I'll have your things moved by the time you get back." She paused, smiling. "Go, go - or you'll miss the sunrise." 

Almost dragging his partner out the door, Jim made a quick exit, a real smile on his face now. The sound of the truck in the pre-dawn darkness nearly made him shudder and he sent out a mental apology to all the residents sleeping nearby. Without gunning it - and thereby making it worse - he got out of town as quickly as possible. 

The morning was still deeply black, but that didn't make him slow down. Suddenly it was really terribly important to get there before the sun brought any light to the sky. Funny, all along he'd known how he wanted Blair to see the Canyon for real, first time. However, it was a few minutes before a sudden thought struck him. 

"Hey, Chief, this is the right road, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, it's the right road." 

Jim smiled at the laughter in Blair's voice. The man barely sat on the seat, almost bouncing with excitement. "You're really into this, aren't you?" 

"You bet, man. This is like, way cool to be doing this, almost secretly, in the middle of the night. I can almost imagine that we're, you know, the only two people doing this, the only ones there and like, going way back in time as though we could be the very first two people who ever saw the thing. Sure, I'm into it." 

"Good. I'd hate it to be wasted." 

"Never, man, never! Just wish I'd done some reading before hand. I'd feel much better if I'd looked a few things up, had an idea of the sacred meanings to the place. Legends always bring these kind of things to life." 

"Well," Jim drove with a permanent smile. "Perhaps this is an opportunity for you to simply enjoy the thing as it is, you know, like you said - as though we were the first two people who ever saw it." 

"I suppose," Blair cocked his head, looking at Jim, "except that I think you're probably more grateful you don't have to sit through another lecture." 

"But I like your lectures." 

"Oh puh-lease!" 

"No, I always find them just fascinating." Jim added mildly. "Really, do, go on. Doesn't have to be about the Canyon. It's been a while but I think I can remember how they go. Now, don't sit there all silent. I distinctly remember you were never silent during a lecture. No, as I recall, the hands get waved around a lot, regardless of whether they're holding dangerous quantities of coffee, the hair usually gets involved," Jim flipped a glance to Blair and found him holding his mouth shut as though by an act of will alone. "Copious quantities of seven syllable words are tossed in, along with nice easy ones like 'tribal rituals' and 'cultural imperatives'. Oh, and you have to change the subject at least three times or I simply won't be able to follow you at all. And if you leave out the usual sprinkling of four or so completely unrelated tangents, you'll lose your audience, I'm sorry. One last word of warning." 

"What's that?" Blair was biting his lip, trying so hard not to laugh. 

"If your conclusion makes any sense whatsoever, I'll know you're just not trying hard enough." 

The sound of Blair's laughter carried Jim through the darkness until they finally pulled into the almost deserted carpark. With the truck off, silence hit again and they climbed down. 

"Not many people here. I expected more." Blair drifted close to him and Jim reached out to take his hand, able to see in the dark where Blair could not. 

"Well, it's a lesser-known spot and it's still a little early in the season for the bulk of the tourists. Come on, the trail-head is over here." 

As his feet left tarmac and hit gravel, Jim felt a tug on his hand, "What's wrong?" 

"Man, I can't see a damned thing! Where are we going?" 

Jim squeezed his hand, "Don't worry, Chief. I'm a sentinel, remember? Trust me. I can see exactly where we're going." 

Blair looked up at that, nodding a little. "Okay - but if I fall over the cliff, you'll have to drag me back." 

"Every time, Chief, every time." With that, Jim stepped out onto the trail, easily able to see where the path dipped and sloped down quickly. They weren't going far; they didn't have the equipment for a full hike down and back. But he knew of a nice spot, a little distance down the track where they could sit and watch the sun come up, unseen by others nearby. 

Blair held onto him, doing his best not to stumble and throw Jim's balance off. But it wasn't long before Jim led him into a tiny side track, dropping down sharply away from the main path. This track came to an end on a small rock-bound platform. Picking something comfortable, Jim half-sat, drawing Blair to stand between his legs, back to his chest, arms wrapped around him. 

"Cold?" 

"No, not really. Be okay when the sun comes up." 

"Won't be long now. There's a fraction of light there, in the east. See it?" 

"No." 

"Don't look at it yet. You'll notice it in a minute." 

"Can't believe how dark it is. I mean, I've been in deserts before, but you know, this is really dark." Blair had stopped bouncing. "Did you know that the Navaho…" 

Jim kissed him, tasting toothpaste and desire both rise at the same time. A sweet mixture of early-morning realities that only made him want more. 

Blair melted against him, no resistance, no fight. Coming up for air, he laughed a little, "Jim, you have _got_ to get a life." 

"Okay." Trimming his smile, he gently turned his guide back to the view. "See the sky now? A little lighter?" 

"Yeah, I can see it." Blair had started bouncing again - not much, more an inside job than anything else. 

And they sat there in silence then, letting it happen, letting it grow. Knowing what was to come, Jim dialled up his senses, allowing the experience to fill him in a way he'd never done before. In a way he'd never known before he met Blair. 

The sky shifted moment by moment, fine layers of darkness leaving one by one, lifting and sparkling, blue and yellow, brighter and brighter. 

Blair pulled in a breath and Jim just held him closer. 

Slowly, so slowly it happened, bringing more colour to the sky, a lighter blue, a brighter blue and then - 

"Oh, man!" Blair's breath came out in one long word. "Oh, man!" 

The Canyon was revealed to them, pale at first, a host of grey valleys and fissures, slowly, so slowly becoming more. Then colour followed, reds, oranges, blues and greens, more layers, thrusting up in pinnacles of ancient rock and plunging into crevasses still black in shadow. 

"Man!" Blair repeated, his gaze roving, taking in so much. "I never… God, it's so big! I had no idea… Jim…" 

"Yes, love," Loving it more now, now that he'd seen it through Blair's eyes. Better than the first time. Better than any time. 

Blair tilted his head back, snatched a quick kiss, then turned to take in the view as the sky grew lighter, the sunrise approaching closer and closer. "I just can't…" 

"Find the words, Chief?" 

"No. There aren't any, are there?" 

"None." 

The massive expanse was revealed to them then, in all it's pre-dawn glory. So far and so wide beyond them, as far as the normal eye could see, so full of shape and texture, Jim had to dial his senses back down to avoid risking a zone. 

Gradually, Blair settled against him, his fingers gently brushing Jim's hands. Above, Jim could hear the first of the day walkers start along the track. He felt no desire to move. 

"This must be… pretty mind-blowing for a sentinel, Jim. Tell me what you see?" 

Nah, no desire to move at all. 

Jim stretched out his hand and pointed, close enough to Blair's head so he could follow. "That peak there? The one with the smaller point just below the top?" 

"Yeah?" 

"There's a little grass growing down the eastern edge of it" 

"Man!" Blair let out another long word, "That's got to be a mile away!" 

"Closer to two, I think. The Canyon's about three miles wide at this point. We should do a flight over it - it's about the only way you get any real idea of size." 

"No, here's just fine." 

"Yeah, here's good." 

There was silence again for a moment as the sun finally clipped the top of the Canyon, warming the air instantly. 

"Jim?" 

"Yes?" 

"Where is 'here'?" 

Jim formed his answer with great care. "I'm not sure I know." 

Blair shifted a little impatiently, turning to face him, not leaving the confines of his arms. "I don't think we can go back, can we?" 

"To what?" Jim pushed a strand of hair from Blair's forehead. "Last week? Last month? Last year? No, we can't go back." 

"I don't want to." 

"Me neither." 

"I think," Blair paused, pulling in his bottom lip, "we can go forward." 

"I think we have." 

Blair's instant smile was more glorious than the sunrise, more important. "Do you?" 

"Maybe we should have tried that in the beginning." 

"Maybe - but I'm not playing the maybe game here, Jim." The smile vanished, replaced with a gaze steady and determined. "We can't afford to do it wrong a second time." 

Jim sighed, pulled him a little closer and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "No. But I think we had a choice a year ago. Two paths to travel down - but instead, we opted for the rocky road in between. Now there's only one path left. Ours." 

Gravely, Blair nodded, "Yeah. I agree." 

"And besides, you have a dissertation to finish." 

Blair's expression softened, "I guess I do." 

Satisfied, Jim nodded, moving until he could pull his cell phone from his pocket. He pressed a button and watched Blair move back carefully, turn and gaze at the Canyon. 

Simon's voice grated into Jim's ear like a favourite saw. "Banks." 

"Hey, Simon, it's me." 

"Jim?" Simon nearly yelled. "Where the hell are you? And where's Sandburg?" 

"He's here - and we're at the Grand Canyon." 

"What's wrong?" 

"Nothing." 

"But… hell, Detective, you disappeared from Vegas two days ago and nobody's seen either of you since! Why the hell have you waited so long to call? Christ, I had no idea what was going on…" 

"You know what happened with the trial?" 

"Of course I do! Look, what's going on?" 

"Calm down, Simon, everything is fine. That's why I called - to let you know. And to ask you something." 

Obviously not even remotely mollified, Simon simply grunted, "What?" 

"How much leave have I got due?" 

"Oh, I don't know, Jim, maybe three weeks? Four? I don't keep track of these things." 

"Well, whatever it is, I'm taking it - effective as of now." 

Something of his easy tone finally got through to his captain. There was a long pause during which Jim could hear - and almost smell- a cigar being drawn upon, as though for strength. "I want to talk to Sandburg." 

"Don't trust me?" 

"Put him on." 

"Okay. Here he is." Jim handed the phone to Blair who took it without blinking. 

"Hi, Simon, how's it going?" 

Jim couldn't stop himself listening in. 

"Sandburg, are you _trying_ to give me an ulcer - or are you just doing it out of habit?" 

"Uh, habit, I think. Why?" 

"Oh, forget it! Put Jim back on." 

Blair handed the phone back, an innocent smile on his face. 

"Jim, you gonna tell me what's going on here? You've obviously not killed each other so I guess I should be thankful for small miracles. Why do you want time off?" 

"Big miracles, Simon - and the request for leave should be pretty obvious." 

"You mean - you two are actually together? Is that what I'm hearing?" 

"Together? Yeah, I guess we are - for the moment. That's why I want the time off." 

"I don't understand any of this. You want time off so you can break up again?" 

Jim chuckled, "No. Quite the opposite. I need some time with Blair," he pulled the smaller man to him again, "we need some time alone - without any…" 

"Distractions?" The sudden understanding in Simon's voice made Jim nod. 

"Exactly. Sorry, I know it's not convenient - but it is necessary." 

"Oh, okay, okay, Jim, you've convinced me. Do it. Take the time - then get your sorry asses back here." 

Although he sounded as gruff as ever, Jim heard the relief and yes, the satisfaction in Simon's voice. It made him say something he never thought he would. "Simon, I want to thank you. You've been a good friend. I appreciate it." 

"Yeah, well," Simon grumbled, not liking the sudden loss of control. "Well, you just get yourselves sorted out. I'll take restitution when you get back. Goodbye." 

Laughing softly, Jim put the phone away and got to his feet, never letting go of his guide. Blair leaned into him, breathing evenly, as though he were scenting the air the way Jim did. 

"Hey, there's a rabbit!" Jim pointed - but it was already too late - and too far away for Blair to see. He sighed, nuzzled the sweet curls and said, "Some days I really wish you could see what I see, see things like this through my eyes." 

"Oh, I do, Jim." Blair murmured softly. "I do." 

* * *

Finis 

Author's end note: I expect there may be some consternation about the concept of rape as discussed in this story. I would just like to say that I abhor rape in all its forms. I say this as a survivor of attempted rape. No aspect of this work of fiction is intended in any way to diminish all that rape is in real life. But this is a work of fiction and, as many authors have done before me, the sex - including the rape - acts not only for itself, but also as a euphemism for other important aspects of the story. I did think long and hard before going down this course but as a writer, I hope to write free of constraints in the expectation of greater understanding and enlightenment. I apologize if my doing so, and in this manner, has offended you, the reader. That was not my intent. Any discussion of the above issues is more than welcome. 

Jack Reuben Darcy  


* * *

End Grand Canyon.


End file.
